


The Devil You Know

by JBankai89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape, Attempted Sexual Coercion, Based on a True Story, Crime, Dark, Drama, EWE, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly OOC Draco, Mystery, Nudity, PostWar, Protective Harry, Questionable ethics, Threatening Messages, True Crime, Violence, Virginity, Wilderness Survival, twist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: Draco Malfoy can hardly believe the turnaround his life has taken since the end of the war. His family exonerated with the help of Harry Potter, now his boyfriend, life could not seem more perfect. However, his life turns upside down when out on a nature walk, he is separated from Harry, attacked, and kidnapped by a terrifying masked assailant.Based on a true story.





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don't do Teen stuff too often, but this was something I couldn't get out of my head, and I needed to write it down. This story is based on the account of the True Crime story of Julian Buchwald and Carolynne Watson, as told on the podcast, _Casefile_. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: Though this is rated teen, some content may not be suitable for all readers. This story contains attempted rape, and is not tagged as Rape/Noncon because I felt that that would exaggerate the inclusion of it in this story. If you read on without taking these warnings and the tags into account and wind up triggered, that's your own fault.**

The Devil You Know

 

Chapter One – Taken

 

Draco stood before his bedroom mirror, smiling indulgently to himself as he admired his appearance.

It was an outfit much more casual than a Malfoy would normally wear, especially in public. Sturdy dark slacks and dragonhide hiking boots, a fitted deep green shirt rolled up to the elbows and unbuttoned to just below his collarbone, showing off a column of fair, milky skin. He thought that he looked good, but in hindsight, he felt as though he should have expected a less-than-positive reaction from his mother. After all, it seemed as though she had made it her mission to call into question every single decision he made since the war had ended. This included who he befriended, who he dated, and where he spent his time.

And his clothing, apparently.

“ _Draco Lucius Malfoy!_ ” she cried, “what on _earth_ are you wearing?”

Draco groaned.

He'd been stepping out of his bedroom, and was just about to turn for the stairwell that led to the front hall when his mother's shrill voice stopped him short. The fact that his father was elsewhere was something of a small mercy. He was less critical about menial things like his attire, but he was still happy to voice his disapproval in Draco's other recent life choices.

“Harry's taking me on a nature walk,” Draco explained simply, his teeth clenched a little in anger at his mother's attitude, “I didn't want to get my good robes dirty.” Instead of the explanation placating her, Narcissa's expression soured, and she gazed at her son with a look of deep disapproval.

“That...that _boy_ is a bad influence,” Narcissa complained, and Draco did not bother to try and resist the urge to roll his eyes. _Here we go again._ “Oh, don't misunderstand me,” she continued quickly, “I am deeply grateful that he helped us stay out of prison, but Draco, he is _not right_ for you.”

“He's only _not right_ for me, in your eyes, because he's male, and as such we can't have a natural-born heir,” Draco snapped, and narrowed his eyes at his mother. Her lips pressed together into a thin line, but she did not contradict him. Not that she would, given that that was the true root of her and his father's disapproval of involving himself with Harry Potter. “I care for him, Mother, and he cares about me. What I _do not_ care about is whether or not the Malfoy line dies with me. Generations upon generations of Pureblood mania, inbreeding, and outright hatred have all but ruined this family. What familial pride am I _supposed_ to have? Harry makes me happy. As a mother, shouldn't that be enough for you, that your child has a happy life?”

When she still did not answer, Draco's eyes narrowed into an angry glare, and he quickly grabbed his cloak before he stormed down the staircase and out of the house.

 

Outside, he nearly collided directly into Harry, who had his fist raised, and he had been about to knock on the door. Harry's arm fell to his side as he laughed, and he reached for Draco, tugging him close to pull him into a kiss.

“Hey there,” he said, and Draco smiled at him.

“Hello,” Draco replied, “fancy running into you here.”

Chuckling, Harry moved to wrap an arm around Draco's waist, and he felt himself turn red at the intimate touch.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded.

“Yeah, let's go.”

Arm in arm they left the grounds of the Manor, and Draco struggled to ignore his mother's glaring eyes boring into his back as they went.

 

~*~

 

Harry led Draco in Side-Along Apparition to an area of forest that Draco did not recognize, but there were clear paths winding away from where they stood, making it clear that this was an area frequented by hikers. It was a bright, clear, summer day, and the trees were thick with greenery, birdsong filled the air, and it was coupled with the distant rustle of the other woodland creatures that occupied this particular area of the forest.

“What do you think?” Harry asked as he wrapped his arms around Draco's middle and perched his head on the blond's shoulder. Draco smirked and leant back against him, enjoying the feel of the embrace for a long moment before he decided to answer.

“Not exactly _haute_ wizarding society,” he teased, and Harry snorted as he reached out to swat his arm.

“You can live one afternoon without presenting yourself at a gala or high end restaurant of some kind.”

“Wanna bet?” Draco asked rhetorically, and grasped at his chest, “I'm already having withdrawal symptoms!” he made himself tremble, and Harry rolled his eyes as he took his hand.

“Come on, I'll show you a good time _without_ spending boatloads of galleons.”

Harry tugged on Draco, and with a small smile, he allowed himself to be led into the forest.

Despite the lovely day, Draco and Harry saw no other people on the twisting paths as they wandered and explored. Mottled green sunlight filtered through the trees, springy moss bounced beneath their feet, and the occasional tree root was the only downside to the trek, which had caused Draco to trip more than once, but Harry always caught him before he fell.

It was much more enjoyable than Draco would have expected, though in truth, any time he got to spend with Harry was _always_ enjoyable.

 

They stopped for lunch upon an outcropping of rock, Harry spreading out a blanket and producing a shrunken picnic basket that had been filled with chicken salad sandwiches, fruit, and a peculiar fizzy sort of pumpkin juice that tickled his nose, which Harry had sworn was a muggle specialty.

“I _dare_ you to offer this to my father the next time you come for dinner,” Draco said as he held up the drink to let the sun refract off the glass bottle, then sipped it again. “Amazing. I never thought muggles were as clever as that.”

“And have him hex me for _tarnishing_ his lips with a _muggle_ invention?” Harry teased, “I'll just bring over a portable telly and tell him everything on it is real...”

“Are you _ever_ going to let that go?” Draco demanded, his face flushing a deep pink as Harry howled with laughter. “It was _one_ time! How was I supposed to know that muggles don't really have sky-ships like that?”

“You could've taken Muggle Studies,” Harry replied between giggles, “then you'd understand that they only _pretend_ to boldly go where no man has gone before...”

“I hate you,” Draco grumbled, and Harry grinned at him, leaning across to brush his lips over Draco's in a light kiss.

“I know.”

 

 

They worked off their lunch by weaving back through the forest, Harry pausing frequently to point out particular birds or other creatures that they came upon during their walk.

Draco was beginning to feel a little tired, and though Harry claimed that they were headed back the way they had come, he was beginning to wonder if Harry _actually_ knew where they were going, given that the forest around them seemed to be thickening, not the reverse.

At the same time however, Draco was reluctant to _actually_ leave.

There was a distinct peace in being out here with Harry, in leaning against his side, and merely _enjoying_ one another's company.

Harry was also touching Draco continually—something Draco was not wholly accustomed to, but for good reason.

As a Pureblood, to remain a virgin until marriage was still a common practice, and when Draco was with Harry around his parents, or in public, they could do little more than hold hands. He knew that half-bloods and muggleborns were much freer with their sexual exploits, and for all his bravado, Draco was still a believer in the old ways. He wanted to be pure.

When Draco had admitted this to Harry, he'd feared that Harry might misunderstand him—or leave him.

Instead, Harry seemed to understand his preference, and beyond that, he seemed to want to respect it.

At first, at any rate.

As time progressed, Draco often had to stop Harry before things would get too heated. It wasn't that he _didn't_ want to do it, because more often than not he _did_ , but he wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather—he wanted to remain celibate until marriage.

Every time that this happened, Harry would offer Draco a disarming smile, and lean in to peck his lips lightly.

“Sorry,” Harry said, but continued to hold Draco, close enough that he could feel Harry's excitement over their activities, “got a little ahead of myself.”

As every time before it, Draco would forgive him, and they would move on.

 

Today however, Harry had behaved himself.

Aside from a few chaste kisses, he did nothing more intimate than wrap an arm around Draco's waist, or grab his forearm when he'd spotted something darting through the brush. It was something of a relief, given that Draco always found it exhausting to explain to Harry _again_ why he wanted to abstain from sex with him.

 

Overall it had been a pleasant, wonderful day, and as they wove through the trees close to sunset, Harry suddenly placed a hand on Draco's arm, stilling his movements, and immediately Draco felt a distinct chill in the air.

“What is it?” Draco asked, and at once Harry placed a finger to his lips.

“I thought I heard something...” Harry began, his voice cryptic and low, and Draco's stomach knotted nervously.

They both fell silent, but Draco didn't hear anything out of the ordinary. Harry's tense expression did not change however, and that alone heightened Draco's fear immediately. Harry was training to be an Auror, after all, he would know better than most when something didn't feel quite right.

“Wait here,” Harry said suddenly, and his hand dropped to squeeze one of Draco's. “I'll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Draco asked at once, and Harry offered him a reassuring smile. He leant in and pecked Draco lightly on the lips, then brushed his free hand across his cheek.

“I'm just gonna check things out, don't worry,” Harry replied, and kissed him again. “Don't move, I won't be long.”

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but before he could even utter a single syllable, Harry had slipped into the trees, leaving Draco alone.

Draco leant against the tree with a huff, and stared at the spot from where Harry had disappeared from view.

_God knows I care about him, but it'd be nice if he didn't act like I was some sort of delicate flower in constant need of protection..._

The sudden thought immediately soured Draco's mood, and he crossed his arms while he vowed to have a word with Harry once he got back.

 

Five minutes passed by, and Harry had not yet returned. Draco was more or less unconcerned, though he began to tap his foot impatiently. The war had made Harry more than a little edgy, after all, it was no surprise that he had become overly cautious, even in places where he didn't need to be. Draco heaved a sigh and crossed his arms, hoping that Harry would return soon.

Five more minutes passed, bringing the total time up to ten.

Then twenty.

As it approached thirty minutes, Draco was beginning to get worried. Had something happened? He shuddered to think it.

He ignored Harry's earlier request that he stay put, and he stepped off the path in the direction his boyfriend had gone, determined to find him. This was just ridiculous.

 

The space he stepped into, just off the narrow paths, was thick with undergrowth and upturned roots, making it incredibly difficult to navigate.

Draco's clothes caught on branches, and he stepped through spider silk, but he could find no trace of Harry Potter. Even a simple Location Charm did not seem to work, but Draco guessed that that was less of a malevolent thing, and more to do with the fact that he was getting nervous, and his mind was not in the proper state for casting that sort of spell.

Draco hadn't deviated from the path for very long, maybe two hundred metres at most, when he was thinking of going back to the path to wait for Harry. Perhaps he'd gotten lost, Draco supposed, and forgot that he could simply Apparate back to the spot where he'd left Draco behind. He often thought as a muggle did, after all, and this would not be the first time that he'd forgotten that he was a wizard.

Draco moved to turn back, and at the same moment he heard a twig snap directly behind him.

He whirled around, but in his shock, he had only time to take in the sight of a man, hooded and cloaked, standing at his back, before pain beyond pain lanced through his head, and the world went black.

 

~*~

 

Narcissa had been taking her afternoon tea in the lounge.

It was lonely, with her husband at the Ministry for one of his Wizengamot-Ordered check-ins, and her son off with that _boy_ , it was only her and the house elves in the vast Manor.

From the lounge, Narcissa had a perfect view of the front garden, and the black, iron-wrought gates that circled the house.

It was then that she noticed the parchment.

A scroll of parchment, wadded up, tied crudely with twine, and forced through the slats in the gate, a tiny shock of off-white against the black bars.

This was particularly strange to her, given that most _normal_ people would just use Owl Post, not cram a letter into their gate.

Narcissa finished her tea, stood up, and swept outside to see what the piece of parchment was.

Up close, the parchment looked similar to how it had seemed at a distance—it was folded into a rough rectangle, not a scroll as she had first assumed, it was tied shut with twine, and it was worn at the corners, as though it had been handled very often—it did not look new.

Confused and curious, Narcissa unfolded the note, just as Lucius Apparated on the other side of the gate. She did not immediately look up at him, preoccupied with the note in her hands. Lucius tapped the gates with his wand and they opened to admit him, and at the same moment he witnessed Narcissa let out a blood-curdling scream before she sank to the ground in a dead faint.

All the blood drained from Lucius's face as he ran forward, and he snatched up the note with trembling hands. He read the short note, then sat down heavily upon the nearby stone bench. He had just barely managed to keep himself from toppling over.

He read the note again, and then a third time.

Lucius dropped it to the ground, and buried his face in his hands.

 

_Even junior Death Eaters are still Death Eaters._

_Marked pretty blonds will get what's coming to them._

_If you ever want to see your son again, you will not contact the fucking Aurors._

 


	2. Hostage

Chapter Two – Hostage

 

When Narcissa next woke up, she found herself stretched out on her bed, still fully dressed, and with a cold compress applied to her forehead.

Narcissa blinked several times, but she could not recall going for a lie-down, and therefore she had no idea what she was doing there.

“Mistress Narcissa is awake!” a sudden small, squeaky voice cried, and Narcissa sat up sharply as one of their house elves bounced into the room, looking deeply cheered that she had woken up. “Master Lucius will be happy to see that Mistress is no longer asleep!”

It all came rushing back.

The letter, Lucius arriving home, and the contents that that foul parchment had contained.

 

_If you ever want to see your son again, you will not contact the fucking Aurors._

 

She shivered.

“Where is my husband?” she asked the creature, and its ears drooped a little.

“He is in the lounge with guests. He is trying to find Master Draco.”

Wondering if Lucius had called on the Aurors after all, she jumped up and hurried down to the lounge. She was in for a shock however, for the guests that the elf had mentioned were _not_ Ministry officials—at least, not fully qualified ones.

Sitting across from Lucius when Narcissa entered the room were the two unlikeliest people to enter this house of their own volition. Even seeing them there, Narcissa wondered fleetingly if she was experiencing some sort of highly detailed hallucination of some kind.

“Mrs Malfoy,” Hermione Granger said as she nodded politely at the older woman. She was pale, and there was a haunted look in the girl's eyes that she had not seen since her imprisonment in their dungeon so long ago.

It was then that she noticed that there was not one parchment note upon the table between Granger, Weasley, and her husband, but _two_.

“What's going on?” Narcissa asked as she joined her husband, and he took her hand silently. “Why are you two here?”

“See for yourself,” Weasley said, his voice shaky as he pushed one of the notes across the table towards Narcissa. She looked down at it, her brow furrowed with confusion. It was a different note, just as threatening, and in the same hand as the one that had been wedged in the Manor's gates.

 

_Pathetic attention-seeking boys who imprison innocents are foul, loathsome creatures._

_Snivelling false heroes will get what's coming to them._

_If you ever want to see your friend again, you will not contact the fucking Aurors._

 

“I don't understand,” Narcissa said as she glanced up and she frowned at her husband, “this is...it's...” she trailed off and pressed her fingertips to her temples. Lucius laid a comforting hand on her knee.

“Our theory is that whoever kidnapped the boys used these notes to throw us off, given that they probably thought it was unlikely that Mr Weasley and Miss Granger would seek us out, or vice versa.”

“The first forty-eight hours are critical,” Granger said, “that's what everyone says. If we're to have any hope of finding Harry and Draco alive, it'll be within that time period.”

“I still don't know if contacting the Aurors is a good idea,” Weasley added with a grimace, “what if it gets back to the kidnapper? They might panic and kill them.”

“Assuming they haven't been killed already,” Lucius filled in.

“Don't say that, Lucius!” Narcissa burst out, and the two younger adults stared wide-eyed at her. She ignored them as she rounded on her husband. “Draco is _not_ dead, how dare you give up on him so easily!”

“I am _trying_ to be realistic, Narcissa,” Lucius replied evenly, apparently unruffled by his wife's tone. “Holding onto false hope will not be a helpful strategy.”

“By that logic, it sounds like we've got nothing to lose by contacting the Aurors,” Granger said, her voice badly shaking. Weasley wrapped a consoling arm around her.

“We certainly have more chance of finding them if we contact the authorities,” Lucius added, “this could very well be a bluff, to keep us from pursuing them.”

“B-but what if it's _not_ a bluff?” Granger asked in the same trembling tone, “wh-what if whoever has them _does_ kill Harry and Draco if they find out we contacted the Aurors?”

“We haven't the resources to find them ourselves, Miss Granger,” Lucius replied icily, as though speaking to her civilly was a real trial for him. “It's a catch-twenty-two. If we do nothing, they die. If we do _something_ , they _may_ die, but they also may not. I will not be held hostage by some madman.” Narcissa did not miss Lucius's soft whisper of, “ _not again._ ”

With that soft, simple statement, a decision was made.

Narcissa stood without a word to anyone.

She could feel the eyes of her husband and the two former Gryffindors follow her every movement as she approached their large, ornately carved fireplace. She reached for a small brass pot with a tightly sealed lid that sat upon the mantle. She opened it, and extracted a pinch of glittering powder.

“The Ministry of Magic, Emergency Services,” she said in a dull, hollow tone of voice, as she tossed the powder in.

 

~*~

 

The first thing that Draco was aware of was pain.

It was a throbbing pain that seemed to lance through his skull like an electric shock, and it made his eyes water.

The second thing he noticed was that he was very cold.

_But it's summer,_ Draco thought groggily, _why am I cold?_

He shifted experimentally, and realized two very alarming things at once—the first was that he was naked, and the second was that his wrists and ankles had been bound together.

Draco's eyes snapped open.

He did not know where he was. There were trees, thick, and growing densely together. The dim light of oncoming evening made it hard for Draco to see, and therefore he could not study his surroundings beyond the simple sight of the thick trunks that surrounded him.

Draco's breath escaped him in terrified pants as panic began to set in.

Where was he?

Where was Harry?

What was going _on_?

Movement in the shadows sparked Draco's attention, and he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as he recognized the form of his kidnapper.

He wasn't overly tall, indeed perhaps an inch or two shorter than Draco was, but from Draco's position, it was difficult to tell. He was slender, not overly muscular from what Draco could see, but beyond that, Draco had no idea what his kidnapper looked like, for he was still hooded and cloaked.

He wore black robes; they were fitted but not constricting so as to not inhibit his movements, and under the hood he seemed to be wearing some sort of balaclava. Black boots and gloves covered his hands and feet, and he was crouched near to Draco, barely a foot away.

If he had noticed that Draco was awake he made no sign, but continued to stare at Draco in eerie silence.

Suddenly, he reached out a hand to touch Draco, and ran his fingers along Draco's side, as though mapping out the shape of him.

The feeling of those gloved fingers made Draco's skin crawl, and with some difficulty he jerked himself out of the reach of his captor.

“Don't you _dare_ touch me,” Draco hissed, though his voice shook badly through his attempt at bravado. His kidnapper did not react, though his breathing did become audibly laboured. He reached out to grip onto the bonds of Draco's wrists with one hand, and he used the other to force Draco onto his back.

“No!” Draco protested, and thrashed violently as the man climbed on top of him, still fully clothed, and he used his weight to pin Draco in place.

Panic truly set in as Draco continued to fight, certain now that the man's intent was to rape him, then probably murder him.

He would _not_ let that happen.

The man huffed in frustration, and he drew a knife. He pressed the glinting blade to Draco's throat; the silent order was clear— _don't move_.

Draco immediately froze, and his captor set the knife aside. His free gloved hand now moved to caress Draco's upper chest, as though determined to map every contour of Draco's body to memory.

Draco whimpered, and tears began to film over his eyes.

“Please,” he said, trying a new tactic, “don't do this. Do you want money? I have money, I could—I could make you a very rich man, just, please, don't do this...” Draco hissed sharply when his kidnapper pinched one of his nipples, not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to shut him up. This small touch caused his fear to amplify, and his breath hitched as he trembled violently.

The man never removed any of his clothing, but continued to idly touch Draco, as though he had all night to see to the task.

He bowed forward as though to kiss Draco, and Draco could feel his hot breath through the balaclava. He clenched his eyes shut, and whimpered as the hot breath trailed from his mouth, along his cheek, and towards his chest. All the while, he held down on Draco's wrists with one hand, and used the other to trail down from Draco's chest, to his abdomen, and lower still.

“No,” Draco panted, and began to struggle again, his eyes bulging with fear, “no, please! Don't, _don't do this!_ ”

Fearful tears sprang to Draco's eyes again, and he squirmed even more fitfully as his captor grunted above him. Draco could not tell whether it was from the exertion of trying to hold Draco down, or frustration at his reluctance.

The blade bit into Draco's throat again. It dug into his flesh more securely, and Draco hissed in pain as it sliced into his skin. He froze as a thin trickle of blood slid down his chest. It felt hot against his freezing skin. His captor once more tosses the blade aside, and went back to touching Draco. His movements were slow and deliberate, and Draco shivered as he tried to think of what to do. His only constant thought however was, _where is Harry?_

_Where is he?_ Draco wondered in a panic.

_What did you do to him?_ He silently asked his captor.

_Harry's always here, why isn't he here now?_ Draco thought, his feelings just shy of betrayal in his panicked state.

The rapid thoughts made Draco even more frantic, and his body trembled as he warred with the temptations to both keep still and try to fight off his attacker all at once. He had no idea what the right course of action was. It was _Harry_ who was the fighter, the protector—not him.

Draco didn't know what to do.

His kidnapper once more reached below Draco's waist, and when he began to touch him, Draco's fear spiked.

His vision became hazy.

He could not see or hear.

White replaced the darkness of the forest as he cried out in fright, and when Draco's vision began to clear, he found that he was still tied up, but the kidnapper was no longer on him. He was now about three feet away, slumped down against a large tree, and the front of his robes were smoking, but undamaged.

He appeared dazed, but it did not last long as he jumped up, stormed across the space, and picked back up the knife.

He pointed it at Draco with a shaking hand, and the last tendrils of Draco's pride crumbled, and desperation took hold.

He called out.

“ _Harry!_ ” he screamed as loudly as he could, “ _Harry, help me, please!_ ”

Draco drew a breath to call out again, but amazingly, his kidnapper did something that he did not expect.

He ran.

It was fully dark now, and Draco could not be certain in which direction the kidnapper had run off in. However, he could hear him crashing through the forest as he tore away from Draco at a full run. Silence fell again when Draco heard the telltale _crack_ as his kidnapper Disapparated.

Silence descended, and as Draco's heart rate slowly returned to normal, he realized that he was now faced with another problem—he was alone in the woods, naked, and tied up, with no way to escape.

Draco shivered, and squinted in an effort to see if there was any sharp rocks he could use in an effort to free himself, or nearby shelters he could wiggle his way over to, but the trees blotted out the moon and the stars, leaving him in complete darkness.

His thoughts returned to Harry, and a great sadness weighed upon his chest. For all he knew, Harry was dead right now, and it was only by sheer dumb luck that enabled Draco to escape the same fate.

_If I'm found alive, the Aurors will definitely think that I did it,_ Draco thought miserably, _I'll spend the next hundred years in Azkaban for being accused of killing my boyfriend. I probably won't even be allowed to mourn him properly..._

A single tear streaked Draco's cheek as the gravity of the situation overwhelmed him again. A small hiccough of a sob slipped past his lips, and a crushing guilt replaced his worries for thinking of himself when Harry could very well be dead.

“ _Harry..._ ” Draco whispered, and squirmed in his bindings, but it did no good. They were too tight, and he could not wiggle out of them, no matter how hard he tried.

A soft rustling distracted Draco from his morose thoughts, and his head snapped up in alarm.

He stared wide-eyed into the blackness, his heart in his throat. _Had the kidnapper come back?_

A low, pained groan broke through the silence, and Draco smiled with relief.

He knew that voice.

“Harry?” Draco called out, “you all right?”

“I'm brilliant,” Harry answered back sarcastically, his voice groggy, giving the impression that he'd just regained consciousness. “You?”

“Been better,” Draco replied, and he heard Harry laugh weakly. “You tied up?”

“Yep,” Harry said, “you naked?”

“Yep.”

The both laughed, the weak sarcasm helping to break through the desperation of the situation nicely.

“Hang on,” he said again, and Draco heard rustling as he moved, “I've found a sharp rock, let me see if I can get these ropes off...”

He fell silent, and Draco listened to him move about. A moment later, he was pushing his way through the foliage, and Draco saw his dim outline above him.

“Hey there,” Harry said, and moved to run a hand through his hair.

“Hey,” Draco replied, “think you could get these things off me?”

“Yes I can,” Harry replied, and Draco felt Harry's hands at his wrists, fumbling with the knots.

It did not take long for Harry to untie him, and Draco sat up, rubbing his wrists as he took in the sight of Harry before him.

Both young men stared at one another for a full second of tense silence before Draco threw himself at Harry, and they embraced each other.

Draco buried his face in the crook of Harry's neck, while Harry rubbed his back and kissed his temple lightly.

“I thought you must have been dead,” Draco whispered, a soft sob lodged in his throat, “I thought—I thought—I thought that man killed you and then went after me next...”

“It's all right, I'm right here,” Harry replied just as softly, and kissed his temple again, “we're gonna be okay. He's gone, we're fine.”

Draco's hold on Harry tightened, and he shivered slightly.

“We better find some shelter for the night,” Harry murmured, “I haven't got my wand, and I couldn't find it in the dark...”

“I don't know where mine is either,” Draco replied, “so I suppose we're stuck here...”

“For the moment,” Harry replied consolingly, “we'll look for our wands and clothes and stuff in the morning, then we'll Apperate straight to the Ministry, yeah?”

Draco didn't like the idea of being stuck in a forest all night without a stitch on, but what choice did he have?

It was a small comfort that he wasn't alone, and he felt strengthened by Harry's arms around him.

“Come on,” Harry said encouragingly as he drew Draco from his thoughts, “we better get out of the open, or we'll freeze to death.”

With an arm at Draco's waist, he helped him stand, and together the pair wandered into the dark in search of somewhere to camp for the night.

 


	3. Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Upped warning to Mature, because a certain scene in this chapter I wasn't sure fell in the 'Teen' camp or 'Mature, so...better safe than sorry XD

Chapter Three – Survival

 

The soft chirping of songbirds woke Draco that morning. The peaceful nature in which he woke lasted mere seconds before he became acutely aware of the fact that he was both naked, and being embraced by someone from behind.

He jumped a little, for Draco had never before woken up _with_ someone before—at least, not like that—and he whipped around to see Harry, fast asleep next to him. Slowly, he relaxed as he took in the comforting sight of Harry's still, peaceful form.

There was a cut on Harry's forehead, not to be confused with his famous scar. This one was new, scuffed, and encircled with purple bruising. The left frame of his glasses was cracked, but still in place, and his lips were slightly chapped from their lack of recent access to food and water.

The sight of him slowly brought back all of Draco's bad memories of the night before, and his eyes dropped to his own wrists. They were flushed a deep red and purple, showing how tight the bonds had been.

Draco returned his gaze to Harry, and felt a swell of affection towards him. Of course, this was technically all his fault, but he couldn't help feeling grateful that he was not alone out here.

Harry began to stir as Draco observed him, and blinked bemusedly as he slowly woke up, before he smiled up at Draco.

“Morning,” he said, and leant up to kiss Draco's cheek lightly.

“Morning,” Draco replied, and arched a brow at Harry. “No proper morning kiss?”

“I figured you didn't want me to kill you with my morning breath,” Harry teased, and squeezed him once, then sat up and stretched with a groan. Draco grimaced when he heard Harry's spine pop audibly, then he scratched his back as he looked around the cave they'd taken shelter in the night before. Harry still seemed to be waking up, but Draco was still on edge from all that had happened, and he was keen to get moving.

“So, what now?” Draco asked as he listed off the things in his mind that they needed to do—find their wands, find food, find their clothes, contact the Ministry. Given that he was still more than a little shaken from the previous night's encounter, he had no idea what they should do first.

“Let's find some running water and wash off that cut of yours,” Harry suggested, and brushed his fingers over the nick on Draco's throat. The gentle touch was enough to make Draco shiver. “Then we'll try and find something to eat, and _then_ maybe we should try and get out of here. There's no telling where that— _man—_ left our stuff, so if we come back with someone with a wand, we'll probably have a better chance of finding it.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Draco replied with a small nod, “except... _running_ water? We're in a bloody forest. I don't see any faucets sticking out of the trees, do you?”

“I mean like a brook or a stream or something, you prat,” Harry shot back with a snort, and Draco felt his face grow warm. He hadn't thought of that. Harry's amused smile never wavered as he took one of Draco's hands, and they stepped outside the cave.

It didn't look all that different to how it had the previous night. Dense vegetation, heavy moss on the ground, and the air was heavy with the promise of rain, but thankfully, not overly cold, given that they were still very much naked.

The most troubling aspect, at least to Draco, was the fact that every direction looked the exact same.

The trees were high and very thick, and even though Draco knew that it was the morning, the light was almost as dim as twilight. With the sky so completely obscured, they had no way of orientating themselves, and Draco began to feel like getting out of this forest alive was becoming more and more impossible. What if that madman came back?

“Well,” Harry said, “we better start walking.”

“Which way?”

Harry tilted his head from side to side, his expression thoughtful. After nearly a full minute, he pointed to the left.

“Let's try that way,” he said, “this might sound a bit mental, but I think I can hear rushing water in that direction.”

Draco grimaced, but did not offer up any sort of complaint as Harry began to lead him in the direction that he had pointed to. He was hungry and dizzy, and he had no idea how he could be so _calm_ when it was very likely that they would die out here. For the moment however, he kept his concerns to himself.

 

As it would turn out, Harry had been right.

They had been walking for barely ten minutes—there were no paths this deep into the wood, and therefore they had to navigate through dense foliage, and watch carefully where they planted their feet, so it felt significantly longer. But they did indeed find a small, babbling brook.

The couple drank deep from the clear, fresh water, and tended to each other's minor wounds. Draco's cut stung a little, but it had already scabbed over. Draco had a feeling that it was going to scar, adding yet another blemish to his torso alongside his _Sectumsempra_ scars.

The next order of business was food. Harry had gathered some dry wood and said he was going to try and start a fire using an old muggle method that he'd heard about, but never tried, while Draco created a makeshift fishing pole using a branch, some acromantula silk he'd found, and a thorn off a nondescript bush. Harry, ever the gentleman, dug out a worm from under a stone and threaded it onto the thorn after Draco refused to touch the slimy thing.

It took the better part of two hours before Harry had managed to light a fire, and Draco had caught a few small perch in that time. Harry stripped a nearby bush of some wild strawberries, which the couple feasted on while they roasted the fish on stones in the fire.

Full and satisfied, Draco and Harry each took another gulp of water from the brook, then doused the flames with soil, and once more got their bearings.

“What now?” Draco asked, and rubbed his arms self-consciously. He'd never been naked and exposed like this before, and even though it was only Harry who could see him, he still felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“Well, You can sort of see the sun through those trees over there,” Harry said as he pointed to a point on the far right. Draco looked, and could just barely make out the glint of the sunlight through the trees, but it was definitely there. “Which means we were going west. We started southwest yesterday, so if we follow the brook that way—” Harry pointed in the direction he meant, “we should make it to where we started yesterday, and the forest should thin from there.”

  
“Are you sure, Harry?” Draco asked dubiously as he gazed in the direction he intended they go. It looked as though the forest got thicker in that direction, not the opposite.

 

“Not really,” Harry answered honestly, and shrugged. “I'm just guessing. But we _did_ start in the southwest part of the forest, so it's an educated guess, at least.”

 

“You seem to sort of know where we're going, at least, so...my life is in your hands,” Draco replied, still uncertain about the direction that Harry had proposed. “But if we die out here, I'll kill you.”

 

Harry looked for a moment as though he was going to respond, but then with an amused smile and a small shake of his head, he took Draco's hand and led him away.

 

~*~

“Okay, so maybe I miscalculated a bit.”

“A bit? _bit_?” Draco asked, and he glared at him. It was now well past sundown; they hadn't managed to find any more food, so they were cold, hungry, and still very much lost. “These woods can't be that big, Harry. We've followed the stream as you suggested, and the trees are not thinning at _all_.”

“Look,” Harry said in a plaintive tone, as though determine to cut off Draco's fit before we really got going, “we'll just find some shelter and try the other way tomorrow, it's no biggie!”

“It's a big biggie, Harry! A _big_ biggie! We're lost, we have no clothes, and—oh, brilliant, now it's _raining._ ” Draco wrinkled his nose as a drop landed on its tip, and Harry's glasses began to speckle.

“Come on, let's find somewhere to camp for the night,” Harry said without addressing Draco's complaints, and took his hand again.

Grumbling, Draco followed Harry as they searched for a place to camp, and luckily found a hollowed out old tree, at least four feet wide, with a small crack that they both were able to slip into, just as the rain really began to pick up.

It felt a little bigger on the inside, and it was warm and dry, for which Draco was grateful. Harry settled down beside him, and once again he was made painfully aware of their dual nakedness, when Harry's bare hip brushed his own.

Despite the fact that it was warm and dry, it was still far from comfortably warm, and Draco found himself shivering. Immediately, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him close.

“I want to go home,” he mumbled, while Harry stroked his hair.

“I know,” Harry replied gently, “don't worry, Draco, we'll get home in one piece.”

“What if that man finds us again?”

“He won't.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I'm not, I'm just trying to make you feel better,” Harry replied, and Draco chuckled. Harry kissed him gently, and they shifted closer together for extra warmth. The kiss certainly helped Draco feel less hopeless about the whole situation, at least until Harry rested a hand on Draco's hip, and moved to caress his bottom.

“What—what are you doing?” Draco asked, and tensed when Harry offered it a gentle squeeze.

“Just relax,” Harry whispered, “I'm gonna help you stay warm...”

“No, Harry, no—stop,” Draco said quickly, and Harry retracted his hands at once, looking hurt. “I told you, I don't—”

“I know, I know,” Harry interrupted with a soft, frustrated sigh. “I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking with my cock, I'll have you know. I really did just want to help you stay warm, but if you'd _rather_ be cold...”

“Don't start with the guilt-tripping bollocks,” Draco grumbled, “I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but it does to me. I want to save myself for marriage. Multiple generations of my family have taken part in this practice, and I'm not about to let it end with me.”

“All right, I'm sorry,” Harry said quickly, though he sounded less apologetic, and more deeply frustrated. “Let's just...try and get some sleep, yeah?”

Draco nodded as they curled up together, and the rain picked up around them. Draco's toes twitched as cold water overflowed into their sleeping spot for the night, and it was a very long time indeed before he finally fell asleep.

 

~*~

 

The Auror assigned to Draco's case was not someone Narcissa nor Lucius knew, and indeed had only emigrated to England within the last two years—from Poland, if his thick accent and name, Aleksy Robak, was anything to go by. This was something of a small mercy, given that it meant that he was less likely to pass judgment on them for their part in the war.

“Mr and Mrs Malfoy,” he said, “we have made a possible connection between the two letters both you two and Miss Granger and Mr Weasley received.” Robak paused to extricate something from the folder he had brought with him, and pushed a small sheet of parchment across the table. It illustrated a symbol of a pentacle and a fist superimposed in its centre, as though cracking the sacred image apart. “Do either of you recognize this?”

Narcissa moved to shake her head, while at the same time Lucius frowned and opened his mouth to protest.

“That's impossible,” he said coldly, “they were disbanded before I was even born. The Inquisitors aren't a threat anymore.”

“Murmurs from our operatives in the muggle world have stated otherwise, unfortunately,” Robak replied gravely.

“Just one moment,” Narcissa interrupted, “who are these... _Inquisitors_?” The name sounded oddly familiar, but she couldn't place it.

“Muggleborns and half-bloods who rejected their magical inheritance, and chose to stay in the muggle world, ignoring those magical parts of themselves,” Robak explained patiently. “They hated anything to do with the wizarding world, much like muggles in the Dark Ages. They refused wands, they can't Apparate, they won't use their magic at all...except for one dark purpose.”

“Hunting down wizards,” Lucius filled in, and Robak nodded.

“This symbol was found on both of the notes, hidden in the punctuation. It was tiny, barely visible. I believe it would be safe to assume that the words themselves are meaningless—an attempt to throw us off,” Robak continued patiently, while he regarded the couple. “Now that we know this, we have undercover Aurors looking for leads that might indicate where they may have stashed the boys. In the meantime, we're also canvassing the area where they disappeared from, looking for clues that might lead us to them.”

“They were on a nature walk, in the Forest of Dean,” Narcissa said, parroting the facts that Granger had offered the Auror earlier in the day. “You intend to canvas an entire _forest_?”

“Only the areas with the paths for hikers,” Robak explained patiently, “we have Mr Potter's blood signature on file, given that he is a junior Auror, and that can be used in extreme circumstances to locate where someone has Apparated to, but for some reason the signal is...muddled. We've no idea specifically where Potter escorted your son, but we now know the general area. I know this is a difficult time for you, Mrs Malfoy, but these things _do_ take time.”

 

The Auror did not stay for very much longer, and when he left, it wasn't even to return to work, but home to his own family. Narcissa stood at the window and watched the sunset, barely visible through the heavy clouds that promised rain that night. Lucius stepped up next to her and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. Narcissa covered it with her own.

“He's out there somewhere, Lucius,” she murmured, and felt her throat grow tight. _My little boy..._

“He's not alone,” Lucius reminded her, “Potter may be a lot of things, but he would not let harm come to Draco.”

“But he led Draco to this,” she replied sourly, “when they're found, Potter will have some explaining to do about putting our son in danger...”

“I'm sure he didn't mean to...”

“ _Didn't mean to_?” Narcissa snapped, and gazed wide-eyed at her husband. His expression did not change. “That boy attracts trouble like nectar attracts bees. I swear, when they get back...Potter won't even have time to celebrate, I'll have the house elves chop him into tiny pieces and feed his remains to our peacocks.”

“I do believe there is a penalty for murder, even if it _is_ warranted...”

“I don't care,” Narcissa replied angrily, and returned her gaze to the window. “ _No one_ hurts my son and gets away with it, even if they _didn't mean to_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For what it's worth, I'd just like to note that I am vehemently against saving oneself for marriage, (and I have a lot of mixed, contradictory, and grumpy views towards marriage anyway...) so writing this was really, really difficult for me. It's not intended to come across as a preachy, “save yourself for marriage!” sort of thing, it really is just a plot device for this particular story.


	4. Home

Chapter Four – Home

 

Draco stared down at Harry's sleeping form, he couldn't fathom what he was feeling.

Frustration?

Annoyance?

Disappointment?

Some combination of the three?

He didn't know anymore.

They'd been in the woods for five days. Five days without clothing, or their wands, or a way out of this damnable forest. It was a small mercy that Harry at least knew a thing or two about surviving against the elements, or they would have been dead long ago.

But with it came Harry's constant requests.

 

“ _Come on, Draco, it'll help keep us warm, it's freezing tonight...”_

“ _I don't care, I'll marry you right now, if that helps...”_

“ _Don't be so frigid, it won't hurt, I promise...”_

 

The pestering, the coercion attempts, it was beginning to wear on Draco, and he had begun to wonder if keeping the relationship going once they escaped the forest was even an option anymore.

_That is,_ if _we ever escape this damn place..._

It felt like they were going in circles. Everything always looked the same, and Draco had no way of telling if they were, indeed, getting anywhere nearer the exit. He was tired of it—tired of sleeping on the hard ground, tired of being cold, tired of scrounging for food like some sort of animal. He wanted to go _home_.

“ _Draco..._ ”

His name was spoken in a sigh, and he turned in their tiny crevasse of rock to see Harry shifting closer to him, and he snuggled close. Draco felt his heart break a little, and he settled down next to his boyfriend, while he sent a prayer up to any God or Goddess who might be listening that they might help them find a way home.

 

~*~

 

The following day was different than the others preceding it.

It started like the five before it—they got up, looked for food, drank some water, and began to walk. They were now in an area where they could at least _see_ the sky through the trees, and Draco guessed that it had to be around noon.

They had been following the brook, which had expanded to a proper stream teeming with fish, and the water was so clear that Draco could see to the very bottom without really trying.

Draco hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, and was instead watching a vixen and her kits on the other side of the stream stopping for a drink. Harry's sudden cry got his attention, and he whirled around just in time to see him running on ahead towards something nestled in the bushes.

_Their clothes_.

“They're here! They're all here!” Harry cried, and held up Draco's discarded shirt as evidence. It was dirty, caked in mud, and made an odd cracking sound when Harry tried to shake it out, but it was _definitely_ his.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Draco cried as he ran to join Harry, and stopped just shy of him as he began to sift through the garments, “our wands?” he asked, and Harry searched through everything more feverishly. With a frown, he looked up and shook his head at Draco.

“Come on,” Harry said in a consoling tone, clearly sensing Draco's disappointment, “We'll wash these off in the stream, and I'll get a fire going to dry them off, yeah?”

“Fine...”

 

Draco followed Harry's lead, and while Harry went about making one of his muggle fires, he took to the task of scrubbing the stiff clothes of the mud and grime, and frowned when he noticed more than a few holes in their garments, showing where they had been chewed through by small animals.

He had just been finishing with their clothes and had moved onto his boots and Harry's trainers when he heard the crackle of success behind him, followed by Harry's whoop of triumph.

Once Harry had arranged their clothes out to dry, he came over and helped Draco with the last few items, then Draco stood with a stretch. Immediately, Harry's hand found his, and his resolve from the night before, his intent to leave Harry once this was all over, began to waver.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked, and the wounded puppy expression in his eyes tugged at Draco's heartstrings.

“Just need to stretch my legs,” he replied with a small, reassuring smile. “I won't go far.”

Harry nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and let his hand drop as Draco stepped off, and began to mill about, still within view of each other, but far enough away that Draco could hear himself think again.

He didn't know what to do.

Draco glanced back towards where Harry sat, he turning their clothes periodically to ensure that they dried evenly, and Draco felt lost.

_I wish you were here, Professor Snape. You would know what to do._

Immediately, Draco conjured up a mental image of his lost mentor, and a lump formed in his throat.

 

“ _Your first priority is to yourself, Draco,”_ Draco imagined Snape would say, in that low melodic tone of his, “ _everything else is secondary. If you are ever in doubt, leave. Humans generally have an irrational capacity to forgive, and there is always time to mend things that have been broken.”_

 

Draco glanced over to Harry again.

Was it right? Was his imagined Snape's advice something he could follow in good conscience?

_Maybe if I try to break it off, Harry will realize that I'm serious about the virginity thing, and respect it a little more..._

It was possible, at least.

At the same moment that he came to a decision, his foot came down upon something uneven, which rolled precariously under his sole. Draco wobbled dangerously, but kept his balance, and glanced down to see what he had stepped on. He gasped.

_Their wands._

Draco dropped down and snatched them up, and looked over to where Harry sat, and back again. He studied the spot where he stood, and with a sickening realization, he recognized that this was the exact spot where Harry had found their clothes.

Draco studied the wands, and did not immediately call out to Harry. He turned them over in his fingers, his brow furrowed, and glanced up again.

How on earth could Harry have missed them?

A tiny seed of doubt rooted in his mind, and Draco bit his lip.

_But Harry would never...it's just not in his nature._

Despite this rationalization, he still felt uneasy.

Bracing himself for the worst possible outcome, he stood and strode back over to Harry.

“Hey,” he said with an easy smile as Draco approached, “great timing, everything's just about dry—”

Draco cut him off by shoving the holly wand at him.

Harry's reaction was one of deep relief, and he gaped up at Draco.

“Oh, thank God!” Harry cried, and jumped up to hug Draco. “I was hoping that madman hadn't snapped them...where did you find them?”

“Right where you found our clothes,” Draco replied, his tone icy and accusing. Harry's eyes widened. A regretful look filled those eyes, and Draco immediately began to wonder whether he'd massively miscalculated the situation, but he'd gone too far to back down now. “Were you deliberately leading us in circles? Did you leave our wands behind on purpose?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Harry sputtered, and Draco saw a number of emotions cross his face. Horror, hurt, and guilt being chief amongst them. However, it seemed as though it was directed at Draco's accusation, and not because he'd done anything shameful. “I'm sorry, Draco, I really am, I was just so relieved to find our clothes I must have missed them in all the twigs and things. I thought you knew me better than that, I'd _never_ do something so... _awful_.”

Draco sagged a little, both in relief and shame for suspecting him. After all, he'd been in Gryffindor, not Slytherin. Subterfuge was simply not in his character.

“I'm sorry too,” Draco replied with a small wince, “I suppose I'm beginning to not see clearly...it's been hard, being out here.”

Harry pulled him into a close embrace, one which Draco readily returned. Harry did not smell anywhere in the realm of _good—_ he smelled of body odour, and grime, and mud, but the scent was familiar and comforting.

“That makes two of us,” Harry murmured, and moved so that they faced each other again, and he pulled Draco into a gentle, tender kiss. “Come on, let's get dressed, and we'll go home.”

_Home._

Draco could have wept in relief.

They hastened into their clothing, Draco so desperate to see his parents again, to sleep in a bed, and have a bath, and eat food that he didn't cook himself that he didn't even pause to complain about the gritty feel of the barely-clean clothes against his skin, nor the unpleasant stiffness the garments now carried from the improper washing.

“Ready to go?” Harry asked, and extended a hand to him. Draco took it without hesitation.

Harry kissed him one more time, then with a twist, the hellish forest dissolved around him, and within seconds, he was standing outside of the Malfoy Manor.

Draco couldn't help it—when the tears of relief came to his eyes he allowed them to fall.

They cut clean streaks through the grime on his face, and Harry embraced him, rubbing his back as he led him up to the high, imposing gates. He'd never thought he'd be so grateful to be home.

They'd barely cleared the gate before the front doors burst open, and standing there, looking more unkempt than Draco could recall ever seeing her in his life, was his mother.

She was pale, certainly paler than her natural fair complexion. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her hair carried an unwashed look to it. Harry took a step back from him, and not a moment too soon as Narcissa ran forwards and pulled Draco into a bone-crushing hug.

Draco could barely breathe, but he didn't care. He knew Harry was still watching this emotional scene, but in the relief, he couldn't care less about Malfoy Dignity. He was still crying into his mother's shoulder when he felt a warm weight embrace both himself and his mother, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his father.

It was a true testament to how trying the whole ordeal had been—Draco could not recall the last time his father had shown such emotion towards him. It wasn't decent, after all, to openly grieve. A Malfoy must always carry on.

“My son,” Lucius murmured, his voice shaking audibly, “Draco, you're home...you're home...”

It was a long moment before they stepped back a little to give him some air, and Draco was reminded suddenly of Harry's presence. He was staring down at his trainers, scuffing the toe against the cobblestones that made up the walkway, like a child waiting his turn for attention from a relative.

“Come inside, you two,” Narcissa said, and Harry's gaze jerked up at her addressing him as well as Draco. Draco, too, was surprised by this. His mother had _never_ acknowledged Harry in such a courteous manner before. “We'll get you washed up and some fresh clothes, something to eat...you must be exhausted.”

She seemed to be speaking more to herself than to them as she shepherded the pair inside, and up towards the second level. Draco was too tired to protest her mollycoddling, and instead allowed her to go about it, still tittering half statements as she went, mentioning things like contacting Granger (which made no sense) and finding something for Harry to wear, and destroying the 'filthy rags' that they were wearing.

Narcissa escorted Draco and Harry to separate bathrooms, but did not leave her son alone. Draco was somewhat relieved for this—he was a little afraid of what might happen if he was left to his own devices. However, she did have the decency to turn her back while he shed his dirty clothes and slid into the prepared hot bath.

He actually moaned out loud as he submerged himself into the hot water. It was scented with lavender and chamomile, and the natural relaxants made Draco feel as though he might fall asleep in the tub without effort.

_It feels like forever since I took a proper bath,_ Draco thought with a leisurely sigh, taking his time in washing himself, while his mother looked on in silence, as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

“Is...is the water temperature all right, Draco?” she asked at last just as Draco cupped his hands in the water and splashed it over his face.

“It's wonderful, Mother, thank you,” he replied, and exchanged a small smile with the Malfoy matriarch.

Draco reluctantly left the bath forty-five minutes later, again his mother turning her back as he used a drying charm on himself and pulled on the clothes left out for him—woollen socks, soft sheepskin trousers, and a thin but warm black angora jumper.

“Your father contacted the Auror Office while you were in the bath,” Narcissa said as they stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the stairs leading back to the main level. “We all thought it might be best for you two to give them your account of what happened while it was fresh in your minds.”

“I agree, Mother,” Draco replied with a short nod of his head. He didn't _want_ to talk about it, he just wanted to forget that it ever happened, but he wanted this madman caught before he tried this again.

In the entryway, he saw Harry stepping out of the lounge with Granger and Weasley flanking him. His expression brightened when he saw Draco, and he abandoned his friends to move to Draco's side, and he slipped his hand into the blond's and offered the limb a small squeeze.

“All right?” he asked, and Draco shrugged.

“Honestly, I don't know,” he replied, and Harry nodded a little.

“I know how you feel,” Harry said, and shifted to wrap an arm around his middle, and Draco mirrored the embrace.

“Come along, you two,” Narcissa said, though the order was much gentler than Draco would have expected. “Lucius informed the house elves of your return, and as I understand it, they've prepared enough food to feed ten of you.”

At the promise of food, both boys' expressions brightened, and they hurried to follow her.

 


	5. Aftermath

Chapter Five - Aftermath

 

When Draco and Harry entered the dining room, they saw immediately that as advertised, half of the long table was heavy with food. It seemed as though the house elves had prepared all of Draco's favourite things—roast duck, braised cucumber, roasted potatoes, lemon and garlic runner beans, and more.

Draco's mouth immediately began to water, and he was so focused on the food that it took him a moment to realize that there was a man at the table that he did not know. He recognized as an Auror by his set of dusky blue robes, but who the man himself was, Draco was uncertain. This was particularly odd, given that he made it his business to know who was who at the Ministry, for the time when he took over as head of the family.

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, my name is Auror Robak” the man said with a thick accent as he stood up and extended his hand to them. Draco shook it mechanically, as did Harry, then he motioned to the table. They both sat down, and all manner of decorum was forgotten as Draco immediately began to fill his plate. He did not fail to notice the pursed-lip look his mother gave him, as though she was caught somewhere between the temptation to reprimand him for his ill manners, and such gratitude that he was home that she did not care.

Robak joined them at the table while Harry and Draco ate their way through three portions of everything. Everyone else seemed to be a little more reserved with their food intake, save Weasley, which did not surprise Draco in the least.

After a pudding of treacle tarts for Harry and chocolate mousse for Draco, Robak politely ushered the others out of the room, and shut the door.

“Now that we've all been fed, I believe it's time to get down to business,” he said, “I need official statements from the both of you, and the Auror Office is sending down a medical examiner to take a report of your injuries from the attack before we have a Healer take a look at the two of you. Does that sound fair?”

They both nodded their heads, and the Auror smiled kindly at them as he sat opposite the pair at the table.

“Good, then we'll begin. Harry, care to tell me what happened that day?” Robak asked, while he withdrew a scroll of parchment and electric blue quill from inside of his robes, and set the parchment on the table, with the quill's tip balanced upon it. Draco recognized it as a Transcription Quill, and knew that it was designed to record their conversation word-for-word.

“Draco and I were going on a nature walk,” Harry began, “I told Ron and Hermione about it, I thought it'd be a nice change for Draco from his usual sort of outings.”

They exchanged a look at that, and Harry shifted his gaze back to the Auror as he continued.

“It was all going fairly well, I thought, but towards the early evening when I was thinking about going back, and I thought I heard something.”

“What did you hear?”

“Something,” Harry paused and winced, “I've been doing nature walks, hikes, all that for a while now, so I like to think that I know the difference between a natural sound and the sound of something that shouldn't be there. This wasn't natural. I made Draco stay behind and I went to see what it was, and before I knew it I felt something hit me, and I was knocked out.”

“A curse hit you?” Robak asked, and Harry shook his head.

“No, like a—a rock or something. On my head.” Harry pointed to the spot where his injury was, now partially healed. “After that, the next thing I know I'm waking up and I'm tied up by my wrists and ankles, and I'm starkers. Draco calls out to me, and I found this sharp rock and I cut through the rope, then I untied Draco's. After that, we went to look for shelter for the night, and the next day, we went about trying to find a way out of the forest. We were in there for...five days, I think, when we found our clothes and wands, and then we Apparated straight here.”

The Auror nodded, his neutral expression giving away nothing of Harry's account, and he turned to Draco.

“You two were separated,” Robak said, “tell me what happened from the time Harry left you, to when he woke up and freed you.”

Draco nodded, but he felt strangely sick, and began to regret eating as much as he had as his stomach churned unpleasantly. Images of the attack flooded into his mind, and he shuddered, swallowing thickly as sweat dotted his skin. Why was it so _hot_ all of a sudden?

“Take your time, Mr Malfoy,” Robak added, his voice dropping to a gentler tone, “I know it is difficult, but you must give me as much detail as you can. The more we know, the better chance we have of capturing the man who did this to you two.”

Draco nodded again as he took a shuddering breath, and Harry's hand found his under the table. Bolstered by Harry's presence, he launched into the story.

“Harry left me to see what it was, and I was left on the path for thirty minutes, approximately. I was frustrated, he has this...this _tendency_ to treat me like some sort of damsel in distress, and I hated being left behind. After half an hour of waiting, I'd had enough, and I went to see what had happened.” Draco paused and looked up at the Auror, and he nodded for him to continue.

“I didn't get far before I realized that it was just too thick to wade through, and when I turned round, there was a man behind me—hooded and cloaked—and he shot some sort of curse at me—not a Stunning Spell, and it knocked me out.

“When I next woke up, I was like Harry, I was bound and naked, but I wasn't alone. The man was there.”

“Can you describe this man?” the Auror prompted, and Draco swallowed again as he nodded.

“He was about five foot, seven, or so, not tall, and sort of stocky. I don't know what he looked like, he was cloaked, he had a balaclava covering his face, and he wore gloves at all times. H-he pinned me down, and he started touching me.”

“Where did he touch you?”

“O-on my chest,” Draco replied as he blinked away tears, and Harry's hand tensed over his. “I fought, and he put a knife to my throat. When I stopped fighting, he put it aside and started touching me again, but when he went below my waist I panicked, and he took the knife and cut me a little.” Draco lifted a hand to motion to the scab still on his throat at he spoke. Robak nodded for him to continue.

“He went back to touching me when I froze again, and this time when he went below my waist and started t-touching m-me—” Draco broke off as tears sprang to his eyes again, and he clenched them shut, while Harry inched closer and rubbed his back consolingly. Draco buried his face in his hands and took a few shuddering breaths before he continued. “I don't know what happened, my vision went white, I couldn't see—it must have been no more than a few seconds, and when I could see again the man was slumped against a tree, his clothes were smoking, and he just...ran. That's about when Harry started to come to.”

“Your vision went...white?” Robak asked, and Draco nodded. “Is it common for you to use wandless magic of that calibre?”

“I—I can't use wandless magic, sir,” Draco replied shakily, “I've never had much of a knack for it.”

“Hmm, I see...It must have been accidental, then,” Robak mused as he rubbed his patchy, grey stubble upon his jaw. “Your magic protecting you in your moment of dire need.”

Draco offered up a weak shrug, uncertain how he felt about that—he could not recall accidentally using his magic before, and to have it burst out of him like it had had been draining, and nothing like funnelling his power through something like his wand. Robak's voice drew him out of his thoughts.

“Was there a gap between the time when Harry woke up and the man running away?” he asked, and Draco blinked as he tried to remember.

“Maybe five or ten minutes? I'm not certain. It was hard to count time, where I was, but he didn't wake up straightaway.”

Robak looked over the notes taken, then shifted his gaze back to Harry and Draco.

“Is there anything more that you two can think of that would describe this assailant? Did he speak? Anything in the way he moved, like a limp?”

Both young men shook their heads, and the Auror's shoulders slumped a little in disappointment.

“Thank you both,” Robak said to them as he stood up and rolled up the scroll, then tucked it back inside his robes. “We'll be in touch if we need more information, and Potter—” Harry glanced up at the call of his name, “—your supervisor, Auror Matheson, he said that you're on leave for six weeks to recover, he'll be sending by the papers to your flat, but he asked that I let you know.”

“Thank you, Robak,” Harry answered mechanically, and Robak nodded his head once before he took his leave.

 

The following meeting with the medical examiner, a bald, elderly man named John Bailey, was simple and painless. Separately, Draco and Harry were examined, much like a normal Healer would do, and asked them how they came to receive their injuries. Their wounds were then photographed, and a certified Healer took Bailey's place to treat them, and prescribed each of them Calming Draughts for shock.

When it was all over it was approaching eight o'clock, early, but Draco felt exhausted, like he was a towel that had been thoroughly wrung out.

“Go up to bed, dear,” Narcissa said, as though sensing his exhaustion, “both of you need to rest, I'll see Mr Potter out.”

Draco bit his lip, nervous about leaving Harry's side. He knew that he was being irrational, but that did not stop his fears from settling firmly into his mind. What if they were attacked again?

Harry threaded his fingers with Draco's and while he ignored the presence of Draco's parents, he leant in to kiss the blond lightly.

“My pretty blond,” Harry whispered, his pet name for Draco making him flush a deep scarlet, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents exchange a look. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that Harry had never called him that in front of anyone else before. “It's all right, we're home. You're safe, nothing is going to get you.”

Draco nodded meekly, embarrassed at how foolish he was being, and Harry wrapped an arm around him as he gently coaxed him to his feet.

“C'mon,” he said, “I'll walk you there...”

Narcissa cleared her throat pointedly.

“I'm all right, Harry,” Draco said, more embarrassed by Harry's mollycoddling than anything else. Harry eyed him dubiously. “No, really, I am. I'll see you tomorrow...maybe—maybe things will look better tomorrow.”

Reluctantly Harry nodded, but escorted him out of the lounge and into the front hall, stopping at the base of the staircase to share a kiss, then somewhat nervously, Draco untangled himself from Harry's embrace, and ascended to his room.

Draco could feel Harry watching him all the way up the steps until he fell from view, and without him at Draco's side, he felt a chill run up his spine.

_Oh, this is ridiculous,_ Draco thought furiously as he sped up his walk, and half-ran to his bedroom, _I'm home, not in that bloody forest. Why do I still feel nervous without Harry close by?_

Draco shut his door behind him, but his heart continued to race as he looked around the expansive suite.

He muttered a quick locking charm on the door as he pulled on his pyjamas and went about his nightly rituals, but still his hands shook, and breathing was difficult.

_I can't do this..._ he thought miserably as he climbed into bed, on top of the covers instead of under them, for he felt almost stiflingly hot, despite the cooling charms that he kept casting. The constant thought of _what if he comes back?_ Continued to race through his mind, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when suddenly his bedroom Floo connection flared to life, though nothing was there.

Draco let out a high shriek, and his parents were there in an instant, cursing him from the other side of the door when one of them ran into it with an audible _flump,_ clearly not realizing that it had been locked. They broke his charm easily, and both Narcissa and Lucius tumbled into the room, still fully dressed, but looking distinctly harassed.

“Draco, what is it?” Narcissa asked as she hurried to his bedside and pressed her palm against his forehead, then slid it to his cheek. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“N-no I'm fine, I'm sorry,” Draco said in a rush, “I just—I thought I saw...” Draco raked his fingers through his hair, “I'm sorry,” he said again, “I must be imagining things.”

“Don't apologize, dear,” his mother replied as she pulled him into a hug, and stroked his hair gently while she rocked him. Draco closed his eyes, caught between embarrassment and comfort at his mother's words. “You're home, but you still need time.”

“I hate feeling so... _weak_.”

“You are far from weak, son,” Lucius replied suddenly, and Draco opened his eyes to look up at his father. “You were put through a terrible ordeal, and you came out of it alive and sane. You are much stronger than you think that you are.”

Draco offered his father a small smile of gratitude, and once he'd calmed down both his parents took their leave, but Lucius paused at the door.

“Key us into the warding of the door, Draco, so that we can check in on you. All right?”

Draco nodded to his father's request, and Lucius inclined his head once before he slipped out after Narcissa. Draco did as he was bidden, and made sure that this time his parents would be able to get into the room unhindered. As he turned to head back to bed, a sudden feeling passed over the bottom half of his face—a hand, covering his mouth, but he could see nothing there.

“Don't scream,” Harry whispered in a rush, “it's just me.” He pulled back the hood of his invisibility cloak as proof, and Draco glared at his floating head.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Draco hissed, then flicked his wand at the door to add a silencing charm, before he rounded back on his boyfriend. “That was you using the Floo connection, wasn't it? You scared me half to death!”

“I'm sorry,” Harry whispered in the same low tone of voice, “I got home, but it was...weird, being without you, and I was worried. I figured your parents would check in on you, so I thought I'd take my invisibility cloak and—”

“—give me a heart attack?”

“That was an accident,” Harry replied, bowing his head, “I really didn't mean to scare you like that.”

“It's fine,” Draco said, and heaved a sigh, “I felt weird without you here, too...it's lonely.”

“Come on,” Harry said, taking his hand and tugging in the direction of the bed, “I'll be good, I promise. Just for tonight.”

Draco hesitated, and glanced towards the door. As though reading his mind, Harry added, “I'll leave the cloak on, your parents will never know.”

Somehow Draco doubted this, But in light of all that had happened, he couldn't deny that he really missed a warm body next to his as he slept. He nodded, and Harry's expression brightened as he led Draco the scant few feet to the bed. He took off the invisibility cloak and set it aside, showing that he was in his own nightclothes of an offensively bright orange T-shirt and striped pyjama bottoms. Harry then stretched out on the bed, and with a grin, motioned for Draco to join him.

Draco obeyed, and snuggled into the offered embrace. Harry shifted until he was spooning with Draco, one arm wrapped around his middle, while his opposite hand stroked his hair lightly.

“I'm right here, Draco, I'll keep you safe...” he whispered, and kissed his temple gently.

Comforted by Harry's presence, Draco was quick to fall asleep.

 

~*~

 

Robak settled back in his seat, the desk before him littered with papers. Witness and victim accounts, as well as medical reports filled his desk, and he felt like he was looking for a needle in a haystack. There were plenty of people who would _want_ to hurt Potter and Malfoy—ex Death Eaters and the Inquisitors being the two suspected groups, but beyond that, he had no idea where to start narrowing down the list.

A soft knocking on his office door drew him out of his musings, and he looked up to see Junior Auror Smythe peeking her head inside. He noticed that she was very white.

“Sir?” she asked, her voice quivering. Robak found this odd, given that she was one of the toughest Junior Aurors that he knew. Whatever had spooked her, it was _big_.

“What is it, Emily?”

“The—the search teams from the Forest of Dean are back—they found something. They brought it straight to the processing Aurors...it's...you have to see this.”

Robak stood with a soft groan, caught halfway between curiosity and exhaustion, and he followed the young woman down the hall to the processing office, where they kept evidence for testing.

When they stepped inside, the first thing that Robak saw was a number of wadded up pieces of black clothing caked in mud. A black cloak, black robes, black boots and gloves, and a black balaclava.

The Processing Officer, a man called Yves Duncan, looked up at Robak with wide eyes. He looked just as shaken as Smythe did. Robak recognized the clothing as what had been described by Malfoy as the same garments that his attacker had been wearing. Robak looked at the officer with raised eyebrows.

“Did you find anything that might help us identify the owner of these clothes?” he asked, “they match what the Malfoy boy described.”

“Yes, sir,” Duncan replied shakily, “hairs, flecks of dry skin on the inside of the garments...I—I ran it twice.”

“Why? Was the result somehow compromised?”

“I thought it must have been, the results made no sense to me, but I got the exact same result a second time, and this process has never failed us before...”

“Get to the point, Duncan,” he snapped as he hit the end of his tether. Duncan swallowed thickly, picked up the processing results, and handed them to Robak.

Robak glanced down at the single name upon the parchment, and immediately sank into the available chair nearby. All the colour drained from his face, and he looked down again, certain that he was seeing things. However, the two words upon the small scroll had not changed.

 

_Harry Potter_

 

 


	6. Suspicions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not be able to update again til Monday, but I'll try to get an update out before that. No promises, though. Sorry!
> 
> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains references to emotional abuse.

Chapter Six – Suspicions

 

“This is...this is impossible,” Robak whispered as he continued to stare at the small slip of parchment in his hands. He'd migrated back to his office, and was joined by Junior Auror Smythe and the Senior Auror on the case, Auror Richardson. Both of them looked just as alarmed by this turn of events as he was, and despite the fact that it was well past evening, none of them had moved to suggest they pick it up tomorrow.

“The evidence is conclusive, those are Potter's clothes,” Richardson said, though by his tone it sounded as though he couldn't believe it.

“But _can_ we arrest him? If we've somehow made a mistake, the media will have a field day,” added Auror Smythe, and Robak grimaced.

“All we know for sure is that Potter owned these clothes,” he said as he regarded Smythe and Richardson. “We have nothing to suggest that he was responsible for the charade of his own disappearance as well as the kidnapping and attempted rape of Mr Malfoy.”

“So what do we do now?” Smythe asked, and Robak grimaced again.

“Interview his friends, his surrogate family—the Weasleys, his boyfriend—Malfoy...” Robak replied as he ticked them off with his fingers.

“And if Potter gets suspicious of our questioning, what do you propose we say to him?” Richardson asked, “he's a Junior Auror, after all, one of our best. He's not stupid.”

“We'll interview him too, say we want a broader picture of the situation, to surmise why the kidnapper would target them,” Robak suggested, but frowned at his superior's reluctant expression. “It's fairly weak, I know, but it's all that I can think of...”

Robak broke off abruptly when a scroll materialized on his desk with an official-looking seal upon it.

“What is it?” Smythe asked as Robak snatched it up and broke the wax seal, and his gaze zipped across the parchment. He grabbed a quill off his desk, loaded it with ink, and circled a few paragraphs about halfway down.

“The medical report summarizing Malfoy and Potter's injuries. Have a look,” he replied, and pushed it across the table to his colleagues. Both obediently looked down at it, _and_ like him their expressions shifted to surprise.

 

_As to the injuries of Mr Potter, it is possible that he might not be being completely truthful in regards to their origin. A regression reenactment of the head wound shows that it would not be nearly strong enough to make him lose consciousness, even for someone with a strong constitution._

_Mr Potter also claims to have been bound by his wrists and ankles. Unlike Mr Malfoy, where there is still clear bruising where the ropes had been, Potter shows no such discolouration of the flesh in these spots. It is unclear why he would choose to fabricate this, however._

 

“Things aren't looking good for Mr Potter...” Smythe muttered, and she pushed the report back, her nose wrinkled with disgust.

“There's also the panicked letter I got from Mr and Mrs Malfoy, claiming they heard Potter use the same pet name for their son that the kidnapper used in his letter,” Richardson added, his left hand moving to tug at his short salt-and-pepper beard thoughtfully. “I thought they were grasping at straws, but...perhaps not.” The Senior Auror paused, and stood up with a minor groan. “Go home, you two, we'll start the interviews tomorrow, I'll just send off the summons before I head out for the night.”

Neither Auror argued with him, and Robak was quick to follow Smythe out. They kept quiet as they made their way to the exits, and offered each other nothing more than a quick glance and nod before they each disappeared into the Floo.

Tomorrow was going to be a _long_ day.

 

~*~

 

At nine AM, precisely, Hermione Granger presented herself promptly at the Auror office. She appeared confused and curious, but not wholly surprised that she was there.

“What did you wish to speak to me about?” she immediately asked Robak as he approached. “Is it about Har—” he silenced her with a look, and did not speak until he'd led her into an interrogation room and shut the door.

“I apologize for all the secrecy, Miss Granger, but considering the sensitive nature of this case, we do not want any false half-truths leaking to the press,” Robak said, and she nodded immediately in understanding.

“Of course, sorry,” she said quickly, “Harry gets enough press as it is, anything extra is just...madness.”

“Indeed,” Robak replied, and motioned for her to take a seat. She complied, and he slid into the chair opposite her. “Would you like anything before we begin? Water, coffee, tea?”

“A tea would be nice, thank you,” she replied politely, and with a swish of his wand, Robak conjured a modest tea tray for her. Once she'd helped herself to a cup, he began.

“Now, we're trying to construct a full criminal profile of the kidnapper, and we've chosen to begin by getting a better picture of his victims—Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy. Can you tell me please, what is Mr Potter like—when he is not in the spotlight? Is there anything you can think of that might stand out? A change in his personality, or perhaps a quirk that might pique the interest of someone in the public?”

Granger hesitated, her lips pursed, and she took a tiny sip of the tea before she answered.

“After the war...Harry changed,” she began, her tone so low that Robak had to lean forward to hear her properly. “I think it was a side-effect of everything he was put through, he just sort of... _snapped_. He wasn't doing anything _bad_ , exactly, he was just...different.”

“Different how?”

“He...I think it was his way of grieving, you know? We lost a lot of people during the war, and he was so alone. The Weasleys sort of...adopted both of us when it was all over, and he tried to pick things up with Ginny, but then she caught him with another man, and things just...fell apart for them.”

“Had Potter not been open about his sexuality with you and Mr Weasley—Ronald? As I understand it, you three are quite close.”

“We are,” Granger confirmed with a small nod, “I suppose he was worried what we'd say. After he realized that we were fine with it, he started going out all the time, and I mean _all the time_. It seemed as though every day there was a new pretty-boy on his arm, and he'd try to tell Ron and I specifics of what he'd do with his boys in bed, and he got all...all sulky when we told him that we didn't want to hear it.

“When he started seeing Malfoy, at first, we were a bit worried, he bullied us in school—at least, he _tried to—_ and we thought with Malfoy things would get even worse.”

“And did they?”

“It's weird,” Granger said as she shook her head, “Malfoy was completely changed, and much... _quieter_ than he had been before. Harry was seeing him exclusively, and we thought a little monogamy would be good for him. _Malfoy_ was good for him. But...then Harry started complaining about him with me, and Ron, I think, but he never complained at us both at the same time.”

“What sort of complaints did he make?” Robak asked, and Granger's frown deepened.

“He learned that Malfoy practised the old ways when it came to personal relationships,” Granger explained with a wince. “You know...the whole celibate thing?” Robak nodded. “Well, Harry was pretty annoyed, and he started asking me all these rude questions about how to get someone in bed who might not want to be there...not in an...er, sexual harassment way, more in a seduction sort of way. He seemed determined to have sex with Malfoy, and even started telling me that he'll even marry Malfoy, have their wedding night, and have it annulled the next morning. I got really upset with him over that, and we yelled a bit, and he stopped talking to me about Malfoy after that.”

Robak stared at the young woman, and she mirrored back his look of disgust. He had a hard time believing what he was hearing—Potter had always been a bit thick, but never cruel or sex-crazed. He had no idea what to think, and his mind was abuzz with confusion as he muttered a quick, “thank you, Miss Granger,” before he saw her out.

 

As the day progressed, Robak's view of Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, began to plummet further with every interview that he conducted.

 

“ _After a while, Harry started to scare me, you know?” said Ginevra Weasley, “I couldn't ask my mum about it, because she thinks I'm still a virgin, and Hermione can be a bit of a prude, but Harry started to ask me to do things with him in bed...weird things...”_

 

“ _I think Harry didn't want our view of him to change,” said Molly Weasley, “that's why I think he kept his liaisons, so to speak, quiet from us. It's wasn't difficult to miss that he had a new boyfriend every time we saw him, he changed partners almost as often as one changes their pants. I've had seven children, you notice things when your children think they're being sneaky...”_

 

“ _I dunno what Harry was thinking,” said Ronald Weasley, “he totally ripped apart my sister, then he burned through any pretty-boy bloke he could find. He was more like an ex-Slytherin than an ex-Gryffindor. It was weird. And he bitched about Malfoy constantly, that he was a tease, a prude, all of that. I tried to explain the chastity thing to him, so did Hermione, but he didn't want to listen...”_

 

All the interviews sounded the same.

Somehow, for some unknown reason, Potter had become some sort of sexual deviant.

He knew that that wouldn't be enough for a conviction however—odd sex practices did not necessarily lead to a major crime, after all.

Robak glanced up from his notes as there was a tentative knock on the interrogation door, and the last person to be questioned for the day peered inside.

“Come in, Mr Malfoy,” Robak said, and the young man nervously stepped into the room. The way his arm fell as he moved lent to the impression that he'd been holding hands with someone mere moments before, and when Robak stood to shut the door, he saw Potter standing on the other side of it, offering Malfoy a warm smile.

The smile did not reach his eyes.

Feeling slightly sickened, he shut the door, and turned to the blond. He was looking nervous and fidgety—less like someone who was guilty of a crime, a manner of body language that he was intimately familiar with—and more like a young child who was deprived of their security blanket.

“What's going on?” Malfoy asked nervously, “I already gave my statement, why am I here again?”

“Just routine, Mr Malfoy, nothing to worry about,” Robak replied with a casual wave of his hand, and a warm smile. Malfoy's shoulders visibly slackened at this. “We're just trying to get better picture of why the kidnapper targeted you and Mr Potter, to see if he's maybe done this before. Does that make sense?”

Malfoy nodded, but he still looked tense. Robak could not work out whether this was tension over the fact that he was at the Ministry being questioned, something, Robak had heard, Malfoy had done before, or if he was more of a nervous person than Robak had originally thought.

“Good,” Robak replied to Malfoy's small nod, “now, as I understand it, Mr Potter has quite the sexual appetite, but you yourself are following the old ways of purity until marriage. How is that going?”

“But...what does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer the question if you please, Mr Malfoy.”

Malfoy did not immediately respond, and instead raked a hand through his immaculately kept hair, and sighed heavily. In an instant, he seemed to radiate stress and uncertainty.

“I thought Harry was different,” Malfoy muttered miserably, “he was sort of known as a playboy, but then he approached me, and he was... _different._ Sweet, kind, caring...he made me feel safe. But then it started to go wrong. I had to remind him at least once a week when he got pushy that I wanted to abstain until marriage, and then he'd push me to marry...but we've only been seeing each other for a few months! He'd spout all sorts of silly things like, _if you really loved me you'd do it,_ and _I just can't control myself around you, I love you too much_. It was all so...strange. I only kept it going because underneath all the ridiculous need he seems to have for sex, he really is good to me, and he did help my family following the war. But...I started to get fed up of his attitude towards my beliefs, and I'd planned to break it off with him, but then this whole... _thing_ happened.”

“Did Mr Potter know that you'd intended to leave him?”

“No, I don't think so,” Malfoy replied, and raked his fingers through his hair again. “I talked about it with my friend Pansy...Pansy Parkinson, and I know that Harry wasn't around, because he and my friends don't exactly get on.”

“You said that before all this happened, you'd intended to break it off. Do you feel differently now?” Robak asked, and immediately Malfoy nodded.

“I was just so grateful to him for all he did for me when we were in the forest...he kept me safe. I'd probably be dead if it wasn't for him, and he didn't even get all that upset when I—”

Suddenly, Malfoy broke off and snapped his mouth shut.

“Mr Malfoy?” Robak prompted, but the young man kept quiet. “Mr Malfoy, what did you do?”

Robak waited, and did not push nor pester the man for more information. There was a dead silence between them that stretched on for close to a full minute before he finally spoke.

“When we found our clothes,” Malfoy explained in a very small, almost childlike voice, “Harry found our clothes, but said he couldn't find our wands. Later, I found them in the same spot that Harry had found our clothes in, and I confronted him about it. He got really upset, and said...he said... _I thought you knew me better than that_ or something. I felt so bad for suspecting him, but please, _please_ don't hold that against him, we were both exhausted and terrified, it was _my_ mistake, not his.”

“Of course, Mr Malfoy,” Robak said in an even tone, “we wouldn't want to mix up evidence and just a simple case of mental exhaustion from your ordeal.” Malfoy visibly relaxed as Robak continued, “if you'll excuse me, I just need to step out for a moment.”

Robak stepped out of the little stifling room, and shut the door behind him. Sitting on a wooden bench outside was Potter, elbows braced against his knees, clearly waiting for Malfoy.

Robak looked over to Richardson and nodded.

“Harry James Potter,” Richardson said, addressing him firmly, and his gaze snapped up to the Senior Auror. His eyes widened, and all the colour drained from his face. “You are hereby under arrest for the unlawful kidnapping and attempted rape of Draco Lucius Malfoy. Know you need not speak, but anything you choose to say will be used against you before a Wizengamot court. You have the right to a solicitor, and if you cannot afford a solicitor, one will be appointed to you...”

The Caution continued as Harry was forced to his feet, and an incarcerating spell was directed at him, binding his wrists at his back. He did not fight or speak, instead he seemed to shut down, and became like a stone—completely blank and devoid of emotion. At the same moment, the door behind Robak opened, and Malfoy let out a cry of alarm as he made a rush for Potter. Robak reached out to stop him, and grabbed the Malfoy heir by his upper arms, holding him back as he continued to struggle and cry out.

“Harry, _Harry! No!_ What are you _doing_? Let him go! He didn't do anything! Let him go, _now!_ ”

“It's all right Draco,” Potter said as he was led past his partner, and he smiled warmly at Malfoy. “Just a bit of a misunderstanding. Don't you worry, I'll have this cleared up before you know it.”

Malfoy immediately calmed at Potter's words of reassurance, though tears had begun to streak his cheeks as he looked on. Robak continued to hold onto his arms just in case he made another mad dash for Potter, but he remained still, sniffling as he watched Potter be led away.

 


	7. Confessions

Chapter Seven – Confessions

 

Draco stared at the space that Harry had occupied mere moments before, and was now devoid of him. The hands holding his upper arms loosened, and Draco paused just long enough to wipe the tears from his cheeks before he properly wrenched himself out of the hold and rounded on the Auror.

“What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?” Draco demanded, uncaring if anyone else heard him yelling. “Harry's done nothing wrong! Why are you accusing him? What proof do you have?”

“We have more than enough evidence to warrant an arrest, Mr Malfoy,” Robak replied evenly, apparently unaffected by Draco's outburst. “We have motive, evidence that Potter wore the clothing you described—which we found during our canvas of the forest—and witness testimonies that all lend to the belief that Potter has been trying to manipulate you for some time.”

“That's ridiculous!” Draco sputtered angrily, “Harry, manipulate _me_? Are you forgetting who the Slytherin is here? You let him go, or I swear my father will hear about this.”

“Your _father_ offered evidence _against_ Mr Potter, Malfoy,” Robak snapped, and Draco paled. He opened his mouth to respond, but the Auror cut him off before he could start. “If you _really_ believe that Potter is innocent, return here tomorrow at noon. We will be questioning him then—with Veritaserum. We will have permission to use it by then, and you may observe his questioning in the observation room.”

“Where will Harry be staying tonight?”

Robak's expression darkened.

“In a cell.”

“Can I see him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Go home, Mr Malfoy,” Robak said firmly, “you can see your... _boyfriend_ tomorrow.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Draco snapped, “I want to see Harry, _now_.”

Robak's brow furrowed, and he glared at Draco, but Draco refused to back down. He _knew_ Harry. Sure, he was pushy, but he wasn't capable of something as awful as this. They'd made a mistake, Draco was certain of it.

Robak continued to glare at the young man, and moved as though to speak, when he suddenly glanced behind him. Draco turned to look, and his father was standing there, a mournful, apologetic look on his face.

His lips moved, but Draco did not hear the incantation. In the same moment, he felt an overwhelming fatigue come over him, and the world faded to black.

 

~*~

 

When Draco next woke up, he was home, in his pyjamas, and tucked into bed. His head was twinging, like a very mild hangover, and he struggled to recall what had happened the day before. He rubbed his eyes and thought back, and immediately shot up in bed.

_Harry had been arrested._

“ _No, no, no, no, no._..” Draco buried his face in his hands as he groaned, repeating the word over and over, but the memories seared into his mind of Harry being led away would not fade.

It wasn't true.

It _couldn't_ be true.

Draco leapt from bed and hurried into his robes, stopping just long enough to cast a mouth-cleaning charm. He then hurried over to his Floo connection and leapt into it, uncaring if his parents knew where he was or not. He _needed_ to see Harry.

 

When he arrived at the Auror Office it was just past eleven, a full hour earlier than when Robak told Draco to be there. He didn't care, and headed straight for the office of one of the Senior Aurors, the fiend who'd taken away Harry the day before—Auror Richardson.

“I want to see Harry,” he said firmly, the moment he stepped into the tiny, cramped office. When the Auror did not respond he added, “ _now,”_ in the coldest, don't-fuck-with-me tone of voice he could manage.

“I'm afraid that that will not be possible, Mr Malfoy,” he replied evenly, “not until after he is questioned.”

“So question him now, I don't care,” Draco snapped, “he's done _nothing_ wrong. You're arresting him on false charges! He was a victim, the same as I!”

“Actually,” a voice said from behind him, and he turned to see Robak standing there. Draco glared at him, but the older man ignored it. “We have rather a lot of evidence against Harry Potter, as I told you yesterday, and we have reason to believe that he orchestrated the whole thing with the intent to rape you. He is the same height and build as the assailant you described, and we have _more_ than enough evidence to bring this to trial.”

“You're wrong,” Draco replied at once, his voice trembling a little from the effort it took to keep his emotions in check, “you're _wrong_. Harry would _never_ do that.”

“You yourself, along with over half a dozen others spoke of Potter's sexual deviance following the war, and his pressures to you regarding your sexual conduct,” Robak replied in the same even tone of voice, “contrary to your belief, we have _every_ reason to suspect that Potter is perfectly capable of this heinous act.”

“You're wrong, you're wrong...” Draco said, his panic beginning to mount as he raked his fingers through his hair and tried to keep himself from crying, and he began to pace. This wasn't happening—this _couldn't_ be happening.

“Come sit down, Mr Malfoy,” said Robak, much more kindly than before, “we'll have someone get you a cup of tea, and you can wait in the observation room where you may stay to watch Mr Potter's questioning.”

At the mention of Harry's impending interrogation, Draco felt decidedly sick. He _knew_ Harry. He knew that Harry wasn't capable of this—he was infuriatingly brave to the point of stupidity, with a heart of gold. He never did anything to hurt anyone. He was _innocent._ Why didn't anyone believe him?

“Come along,” Robak repeated, “there's a good lad, off we go.” With a hand hovering over Draco's right shoulder, Robak led him out of the office, down the hall, and to the observation room.

The room was dark, and Draco's footsteps were soundless, cushioned by the carpeting that the space had been lined with. A number of chairs had been lined up to face a large, rectangular window, with small, round end tables bracketing them. Had it not been for the ominous-looking wooden table in the opposite room, it would have looked rather cozy.

“Have a seat, Mr Malfoy,” Robak said, and Malfoy obediently slid into one of the proffered chairs. He sat up straight, shoulders back and head held high, like he was taught. The position felt almost impossible to maintain when he felt as though the weight of a hippogriff was perched upon his back, but he wanted to be strong, show his confidence in Harry's innocence to these imbeciles.

Robak waved his wand, and a roving tea tray of simple cucumber sandwiches and a horrible floral teapot materialized upon one of the end tables nearest to him, and a cup of strong, sweet, and milky tea was pressed into his hands.

Even prepared just how he liked it, Draco found the beverage did little to calm his jangling nerves. He was left alone, something that still made him nervous since the attack, but he was left to his own devices for barely ten minutes when the door was tapped upon, and he looked up to see his mother letting herself into the room.

Without explanation, she helped herself to a cup of tea from the tray and sat at his side. She did not speak, but her presence was still comforting.

Closer to noon Draco and Narcissa were joined by Lucius, and he sat on the opposite side of his wife, though unlike her he did not touch the tea tray.

The little family sat in silence, and not long after, the telltale _click_ of the interrogation room's door opened, and Draco's gaze snapped up to see Harry being led into the room by Auror Richardson and Robak. His hands were still bound, his head was tipped forward, and his face was blank and expressionless.

Draco set aside his empty teacup and stood up. No one stopped him as he crossed over to the window and pressed his palm against the glass. Harry had never felt so far away.

Draco watched as Robak tapped Harry's wrists, and the rope vanished. He rubbed the joints as he sat down, and at the same moment, two items appeared upon the centre of the table. A goblet of water, and a tiny vial with dropper attached, which seemed to contain some sort of clear liquid—Veritaserum.

“Do you have clearance to use Veritaserum on me?” Harry asked dully, and Robak immediately withdrew a scroll of parchment from the inside of his robes.

“See for yourself,” he replied, a note of disgust in his voice as he pushed the scroll across to Harry. He snatched it up and read it over, then with a resigned look on his face he nodded, and pushed the parchment back to Robak. Robak stowed it back inside his robed while Richardson lifted the vial, tipped it, and allowed three drops of the potion to fall into the water.

“Bottoms up, Mr Potter,” Richardson said in a rather nasty tone as he slid the goblet across the table. Harry's expression was still carefully blank, but Draco did not fail to notice the slight tremor to his hands as he lifted the goblet to his lips and drank.

Draco held his breath, and watched as Harry drained the goblet, set it down, and almost immediately a glazed, vacant expression passed over Harry's face.

“What is your name?” Auror Robak asked.

“Harry James Potter,” Harry replied in a bland tone.

“What is your date of birth?”

“Thirty-first July.”

“And what was your Hogwarts house?”

“Gryffindor.”

Richardson and Robak exchanged a look, and they both nodded. Robak immediately began to question him.

“On the twelfth of August of this year, you and Mr Draco Malfoy went for a nature walk in the Forest of Dean, which ended in the alleged kidnapping of yourself and Mr Malfoy. Do you know the name of your kidnapper?”

“Yes.”

“Who kidnapped Draco Malfoy?”

“I did.”

Draco removed his palm from the glass.

In an instant his mother was there, keeping him from falling, and he stared at his boyfriend, his _partner_. Why would Harry do such a thing? Draco felt sick.

“Tell me why you did this,” Robak said, his voice heavy with disgust. To Draco, the conversation sounded strangely muffled, as though he was hearing it from underwater.

“I wanted him,” Harry replied simply, in the same vacant tone. “He was a tease. He would get me all excited for him, and then not follow through. He was just Draco Malfoy, I didn't think anyone would miss him.”

“Explain,” Robak said, his voice cold. Draco began to shake, and he sat down again. His body felt heavy, and he curled in on himself, his fingers buried themselves in his hair and covered his ears. He didn't want to hear this, but like the venom of a poisonous snake, Harry's voice creeped into his mind and sounded painfully loud.

“I was always attracted to Draco,” Harry said, “it became stronger in sixth year, but never went away, not even after the war. I knew he was grateful to me for saving his life during the war, and then for helping him and his family escape Azkaban. He was bent, so it didn't take much to talk him into going out with me, but I found out about his abstinence thing, and I was determined to talk him into letting me shag him.

“But he was stubborn. It was frustrating, I wanted him, and I knew that he wanted me, and the only reason he kept saying no was because of some ridiculous, outdated custom. My views on killing changed after I killed Voldemort, it was easier than I thought. He was just Draco Malfoy, the only reason he's managed to avoid public disdain was because of his involvement with me. No one would miss him if he just vanished.”

“You intended to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“ _No, no, no, no, no..._ ” Draco whimpered, and drew in a shaking breath as the words poisoned his mind. This wasn't Harry—this _couldn't_ be Harry.

“Tell me what happened in the forest,” Robak said; his tone of voice was even, but Draco could still hear the distinct note of disgust in it.

“I took Draco to the forest for a walk, I thought it was the place least likely for him to be found,” Harry said, and Draco shuddered, caught between the deep desire to _not_ listen, and the complete inability to turn away.

“I led him as deep into the forest on the paths as I could. I knew the forest really well, but Draco wasn't what you'd call the _outdoorsy_ type. It was easy to keep from arousing his suspicion.

“When Draco started getting agitated, like he wanted to go home, I pretended that I heard something off the path. I snuck off, and changed my clothes so that Draco wouldn't recognize me. I circled back around when I heard Draco turn off the path to look for me, and I snuck up on him. When I stepped on a twig, alerting him to my presence, he turned, and I knocked him out.

“I took Draco to a little clearing that I knew of, more or less in the centre of the woods, really off the beaten path, so that no one would hear him, or stumble across the body,” Harry continued, and Draco covered his ears again. Gently, his mother took his hands away. “I kept my disguise on, and I stripped his clothes, took his wand, and tied him up. I waited until he woke up, and then pinned him down. I finally could touch him without worrying about someone stopping me, and I meant to savour it.”

“You intended to rape him?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what happened next, Potter.”

“I straddled him, and I started to touch him. He was snivelling, and offering me money to make me stop, but I didn't I didn't want _money_. I just wanted his body. I used a knife to scare him into shutting up. When I touched his cock, he freaked out and started to struggle, so I had to stop to get him under control again. I cut him a little to make sure that he knew I wasn't mucking about. When I next tried, he panicked and used accidental magic—it threw me across the clearing, and into a tree. I got angry, and I took my knife and I planned to just kill him, but then Draco started screaming, calling for my help and I got nervous, and realized I couldn't go through with killing him, so I ran.”

“You ran,” Robak echoed, and Draco shuddered in the following silence. He looked up in time to see Harry nod. “Fine, you lost your nerve to commit your crime in full. Tell me what happened next.”

“I ran off and abandoned my disguise and buried it, then hid my wand with my and Draco's clothes. I hit myself in the head with a sharp rock to make it look like I'd been knocked out too, and snuck back to Draco, just out of sight of where he was. I pretended to be coming out of unconsciousness, and then faked getting myself out of my imaginary bindings before I went to him and untied him. I helped him to some shelter, and we stayed there for the night.”

“Fine, you feigned being a victim as well,” Robak grunted, “why did you stay out in the forest for a further five days?”

“I thought in his weakened state he might crack and let me shag him,” Harry replied in the same vacant tone. “I kept trying, I even tried to get him to bond with me, I just wanted to finally shag him so that I could leave him. He was too high maintenance for me, it was pathetic.”

“Did you still intend to kill him at that point?”

“I couldn't decide. Some days I just wanted to strangle him in his sleep, he was so frustrating—so _needy_. Other days, I didn't think he was worth the effort. After five days I realized that he wouldn't crack, so I gave up, and led us back to where our clothes were.”

“Mr Malfoy claimed you kept his wand from him,” Robak stated, and Harry nodded.

“I thought he'd be grateful enough to have his clothes back, and I'd planned to try one last time to shag him before I conveniently found them, but Draco found them first. I pretended to be all surprised that he found them, and when he accused me of hiding them, I turned it back on him—he's easy to manipulate, he always has been. After that, I took him home by Side-Along Apparition. I figured that'd be the best way to keep me in Lucius and Narcissa's good books, to return their son to them as soon as I could.”

Silence fell between Harry and his interrogator. Harry turned towards the window, which Draco knew was masked from Harry's view. Even so, his eyes locked with Draco's, and he smirked. Draco felt suddenly as though he might be sick, and looked away just as he heard Robak say, “take him away.”

 


	8. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Bit of a time jump in this chapter. Hope no one finds it too jarring. And I lied, one more chapter after this one.

Chapter Eight – Recovery

 

From the time that Draco learnt the depths of Harry's deceit to the present moment, nearly six months had passed.

Harry had been kept under lock and key in a lower level of Azkaban for prisoners awaiting trial. Draco had been barred from seeing him, but this didn't bother Draco very much—he didn't _want_ to see him.

Thinking of Harry hurt beyond all reason, and Draco was ashamed of how many nights he'd spent crying himself to sleep over it. He knew that this was no way for a Malfoy to behave, but at the same time he felt as though he couldn't help it. He felt broken, he felt _wrong_.

And it was all _Harry's_ fault.

How could have have done such a thing?

 

Some nights, Draco would dream of the good times he'd spent with Harry—the first time he'd brought Draco to the Burrow, and how he'd stopped George from pulling pranks on him, and saved him when Ron had tried to hex him behind Harry's back. He remembered how warm and welcoming Molly Weasley had been, how she adopted him into their family without a shred of judgment in her eyes, and how she'd press more food on him constantly as she proclaimed that he was too skinny. It made Draco feel warm all over, and he was amazed at how much this woman (whom he had spent much of his adolescence making fun of) reminded him of his own mother.

And it had been thanks to Harry that he'd ever met her, that he'd ever built that bridge between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. How could someone who'd done that go so far off the rails? It didn't make any sense.

 

Other times, Draco would recall what Harry had said during his questioning, and his subconscious would blend it with his ordeal in the forest it in vivid detail. He would see the attacker coming at him, touching him against his will, threatening him, but now unmasked, and it was _Harry_ staring down at him as he attempted to sexually assault him.

Every time, Draco would wake from these nightmares screaming.

Granger and Weasley visited him often, extending their apologies for what he'd been through, and they seemed to be trying valiantly to extend a branch of friendship to him (at least, Granger was. Weasley seemed to be going along with whatever she did without question). Draco had no idea how to interpret this, and after politely asking them numerous times to leave him and his family alone, Granger finally took the hint and they stopped dropping by.

More difficult to shake off were his friends, in particular Pansy and Blaise, who seemed to be out for blood after hearing of what Harry had done.

 

“Oh, it's a good thing he's locked up,” Pansy had said angrily, just after he'd told her at length what Harry had confessed to, “because if I could, I'd _kill_ him.”

 

Blaise's reactions were far less murderous, and more calming.

 

“Can't wait to see those house-prejudiced twits try to protect their boy-hero now,” Blaise had mused over tea one afternoon, “now that everyone knows he's nothing but a piece of scum, sort of another nail in the coffin of Gryffindor House, wouldn't you say?”

 

Paired with this were a number of (surprisingly accurate) articles in the _Daily Prophet_ detailing his experience, and it seemed as though everyone had an opinion of why Harry had done what he'd done, from Post-Traumatic Stress brought on by the war, to _a pupil of Peter Pettigrew,_ to simply, that he was just as evil as his former enemy.

All of these opinions were voiced to Draco in a literal flood of letters, nearly all of them extending their sympathies for what he had endured, though a fair few accused him of using Dark Magic to manipulate the Aurors into arresting Harry on false charges.

These Draco binned with barely a second glance.

Even after all this time, Draco had no idea what to think about it all. He was still stuck on the deep betrayal his former partner had shown him, and it burned deeply, but also he struggled to truly believe that it really had been Harry who'd done such a thing. He'd said it under Veritaserum, he knew that it was true, but that did not make it any easier for Draco to accept.

 

Interspersed with all this were a number of visits with Healers, Aurors, Magical Law Enforcement Officers, the family-hired solicitor, and many others. Draco struggled to remember just who he had spoken to on what particular day, and he'd been prescribed half a dozen different potions for shock, post-traumatic stress, insomnia, and several vials of tranquility draughts, following one botched suicide attempt one month after Harry's initial interrogation.

Despite all the support that surrounded him, Draco had never felt so alone, and so worthless.

He felt broken; damaged, and struggled to believe the positive words of his family and friends.

 

“ _Draco, you're not worthless, and you are not less of a person because of something that has been done_ to _you, you didn't ask for this..._ ” said his mother.

 

“ _Draco, this experience shows nothing but your strength of character. You were put through something that would break a lesser man, but you came out of it with your head held high..._ ” said his father.

 

“ _Draco, you practice the old ways, and you stayed strong throughout what that scum, Potter, did to you. Anyone else would have abandoned their beliefs and just given Potter what he wanted, but you didn't. You stood by your choice to remain celibate until marriage, no matter how little respect Potter showed for that decision. You're stronger than you know,” said Blaise._

 

The words were comforting, but it did not completely quell the sting of Harry's betrayal.

 

The worst (and most baffling, given that he could not recall ever in his life speaking to him) by far was when Zacharias Smith, the former Hufflepuff, approached Draco and asked for permission to court him.

Draco did not recall what had happened next, but woke in hospital a week later with his wrists and ankles bound to the bedposts 'for his own good', and he was informed that he'd suffered a complete mental breakdown.

Smith sent him a single chrysanthemum with green and orange ribbon tied to its stem with a short apology note, and did not approach him again.

 

Six months of _hell_.

And now, it was time for Harry's hearing.

Even with all his mental and emotional preparation for this day, the prospect of seeing Harry again filled Draco with a near-childlike terror that refused to go away, no matter what he did. He hated that he still felt so much the part of a _victim_.

 

“Sweetheart, you need to eat something,” his mother chastised gently the morning of the hearing, and pushed the platter of crumpets towards him. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“I'm not hungry, Mother,” Draco muttered as he fiddled with his morning tea and daily doses of potion, but did not touch the food. “I think if I eat anything, I might be sick.”

“Just remember that he can't hurt you anymore,” Narcissa said gently, and laid a hand over his. When he flinched, she quickly backed off.

_You're wrong, Mother,_ Draco thought miserably as he knocked back his potions, _he still hurts me, every night, in my nightmares._

The thought was enough to make Draco shiver, and he busied himself with his tea again, and tried to avoid the concerned looks his parents continued to direct at him.

At quarter to nine their solicitor arrived, a man named Frederick Barrel. He had a leather briefcase under his arm, and a gentle, relaxed smile upon his face that immediately eased some of Draco's nerves—though not by much.

“Morning,” he said, nodded to each of the Malfoys in turn, “I would like, if I may, to go over things one last time before we head over to the Ministry. Would that be all right with you, Draco?”

Draco nodded stiffly. He didn't particularly want to discuss it, but he knew that they needed to be as prepared as possible if they were to have any chance of putting Harry behind bars.

“Perfect,” he replied with a small smile, and sat down alongside Draco.

“Can I offer you anything, Mr Barrel?” Narcissa asked as he snapped open his briefcase and extracted a thick folder from inside. “Coffee? Tea? Perhaps something to eat?”

“A coffee would be nice, thank you,” Barrel replied, and immediately turned back to Draco.

“Now, from talks with the defence, I understand that they will be trying to prove to the Wizengamot that Potter is insane, some sort of trauma brought on by the war, and sharing his brain with You Know Who and all that. If they are successful, Potter would be confined to St Mungo's Mind Damage ward under lock and key,” Barrel explained, consulting the folder in his hands as he spoke. He paused to nod his thanks to Narcissa as he accepted a coffee from her in a transparent mug, and took a sip of the drink before he continued.

“However, it is unlikely that they would keep him there for a long period of time. Wizarding culture is painfully lacking in professional help for the insane—both generally and criminally—and a few years in a locked ward with good behaviour, he would likely be deemed cured, and released.”

The idea of Harry free was enough to make Draco shiver.

“Our plan, as I have discussed with you and your parents at length, is to prove that Potter was of sound mind when he committed those vile acts against you, and he deserves a life term in Azkaban for the accumulated charges of assault, kidnapping, attempted rape, and intent to murder,” Barrel said in a simple, matter-of-fact tone. “We have more than enough evidence to prove that Potter is something of a psychopath, from his manipulations of not only you, but virtually everyone around him as well. We have testimonies from Hermione Granger, as well as several of the Weasley family, detailing Harry's abrupt change in attitude following the war. But unlike the defence, who are using this fact as further proof that Potter is mad, we are using it to show that Potter was using his ordeal during the war to justify his poor treatment of his partners, when in reality he was of sound mind.”

“This life term...” Draco said uncertainly, “does it mean he will be in Azkaban for life?”

“Not necessarily,” Barrel replied with a small frown, “new legislation means that a life term is thirty to forty years, depending on the seriousness of the crime. If they are considered an extreme danger to the public, they get a mark on their file that states that they are never to be released. The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is the one who makes those decisions however, it is out of my hands. If we play our cards right, I see no reason why we wouldn't be able to lock him away for at least thirty years, so he'll be eligible for release when he's in his fifties.”

“He should rot in there,” Draco muttered, and crossed his arms; the words sounded false in his own ears, and even as he spoke them, they sounded _wrong_ to him. How could this be the same man who saved him from Fiendfyre? Who protected his parents from Azkaban? Who did not blink in rescuing every man, woman, and child from danger, in whatever form it presented itself in? It made no sense. Draco gave himself a little shake, and returned himself to the present.

“Yes, well, with a little luck, we'll convince the Chief Warlock of that,” Barrel replied with a reassuring smile.

Draco forced himself to nod, but he could not smile in return. So much rode on the outcome of this hearing, and he was far too nervous to even force an optimistic attitude, when inside he was a nervous wreck.

_This is Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World,_ Draco thought over and over, _and I am a former Death Eater. Why would they bother to believe_ anything _that I have to say?_

The thought did not bolster his spirits, but instead made the idea of getting any sort of fair trial seem positively hopeless.

His father soon announced that it was time to leave, and nervously he followed his solicitor and his parents to their fireplace, and used the Floo connection to head straight to the Ministry's Atrium.

They all had their wands registered with the security wizard at the back of the expansive space, and they followed Barrel to the lifts in silence.

Outside of Courtroom One—the same courtroom Draco's own trial had been held in years earlier—he was shocked to find a line of people sitting outside. He spotted Granger and Weasley, along with the rest of the Weasley clan, and a number of pretty young men whom he did not know, but had to assume that they were Harry's ex-lovers.

Looking at them, Draco felt a chill run through him.

They were all blond, blue-eyed, and waif-like. So similar to his own appearance in fact that he felt a little sick, and his vision swam. Clearly, Harry had a _type._

Warmth covered one of his hands suddenly, and a jumped a little, only to belatedly realize that it was his mother holding his hand. To his negative reaction, she moved as though to pull away, but his hand tensed over hers, and she silently returned the gesture.

Just as Draco sat at the end of the line of people with his parents on either side of him, and his solicitor at the end, the doors at the end of the passageway burst open. Draco's breath caught as he spotted someone approaching them—someone with a head of very untidy black hair.

Harry looked very different from the last time that Draco had seen him. He wore the grey and black Azkaban prisoner robes, his wrists were bound in thick iron cuffs, and he was dirty, unwashed, with a thick beard and gaunt sort of look to his face. He walked bracketed by two Aurors, both of whom looked positively disgusted, and would not look towards the prisoner between them.

Draco fought to hide his trembling as they approached, just as Harry's eyes fell to him, and his mouth twitched into a leering smirk. Draco shrunk back, and pressed his spine fast against the wall, while the Aurors led him past the group of witnesses set to testify, and into the courtroom. Barrel stood and offered the little family a single nod, and followed the prisoner inside.

Draco sat in silence, his head bowed, and eyes fixed on his fingers, tangled together as though he was set to pray. His vision was blurred and he blinked hard, but it did not stop the tears from dripping down his cheeks.

Close to half an hour passed before the courtroom door opened again, and Draco saw his solicitor peer out. When his eyes found Draco, the older man said the words that he had been both expecting, and deeply dreading.

“We're ready for you, Mr Malfoy.”

 


	9. Verdict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tried to keep the court hearings and things as realistic as possible, however I didn't have access to internet for long periods of time when I was writing this, and I couldn't research the UK legal system as much as I needed to, so this is more loosely based on the Canadian court system, rather than the British one where the canon isn't as clear as to what goes on. (I am Canadian, in case that wasn't obvious, haha) I apologize for the delay in posting this, but an impromptu pet emergency to the vet ate up a lot of my fanfic time recently.
> 
> There is a bit of a Canon Divergence towards the end of this chapter, which was deliberate.

Chapter Nine – Verdict

 

Draco did not look at his parents, nor those assembled as he stood on weak legs and stepped down the passageway and towards the doors. His solicitor continued to smile at him kindly, but it felt like empty sentiment to Draco as he continued to walk forward and struggled to brace himself to face Harry.

When he crossed into the courtroom, his eyes immediately zeroed in on Harry. He was seated off to one side, his wrists bound, and an Auror was seated next to him, likely to keep him from escaping. Draco's his vision began to swim as Harry smiled at him; it was a familiar, warm smile that Draco knew well, but this time, it did not reach his eyes.

A hand on Draco's shoulder caused him to jump, and he whirled around to see his solicitor standing at his side.

“Come along,” he whispered softly, “I know you're scared, but he can't hurt you in here. You're safe.”

Draco doubted how _safe_ he actually was, but nodded nonetheless as he stepped towards the chair in the centre of the room.

The chains on the armrests clinked ominously when Draco sat down, but unlike when he'd been here for his Death Eater trial some years prior, they did not bind him. He looked up to the assembled Wizengamot, and realized with a start that he did not recognize any of the faces staring down at him. He relaxed a little; if it was people that he did not know, chances are that meant that they did not personally know Harry either, and they were more likely to get a fair trial.

“You are Draco Lucius Malfoy?” the Chief Warlock asked in a neutral as he looked down his nose at Draco.

“Yes, sir.”

“Resident of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you claim that on the twelfth of August, Mr Harry Potter kidnapped you with intent to harm.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied evenly, and there was a low murmur of dissent through the court. Draco gritted his teeth, but he did not rise to the disbelief of the court. They'd expected this, after all, and he needed to keep his head if they were to have any hope of coming out of this with Harry locked away.

“And what proof do you have of these allegations?”

“Mr Potter was questioned under Veritaserum and gave a full confession, as you know, Chief Warlock,” interrupted his solicitor, “he admitted to kidnapping Mr Malfoy with the intent to rape and murder, and further _did_ attempt to rape him, and spent five days keeping Mr Malfoy trapped in that wood, with the intent to attempt to coerce him into having sex with him. The only reason that Mr Malfoy sits here before us now is due to his unwillingness to bend his beliefs for a pushy significant other.”

“Is this true, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco nodded.

“Please tell us in your exact words what occurred during your time in the forest, Mr Malfoy,” the Chief Warlock said, as though he was struggling to believe what Harry had admitted to was in any way true.

Draco immediately launched into his story, and made sure to include every tiny detail that he could. As he spoke, he could see the faces of the Wizengamot begin to darken, though it was difficult to tell if that was because of what he was saying, or if they didn't believe him. Draco kept his eyes on the Chief Warlock, and tried to ignore the way Harry's eyes seemed to burn into him.

“Tell me, Mr Malfoy,” a man said suddenly, and he stood up from where he'd been sitting, and Draco realized with a jolt that this was Harry's solicitor. He was certainly a Slytherin alumni, he practically exuded an air of cold cunning and ambition; however, Draco could not recall ever meeting someone formerly of his house that made his skin crawl like this. “You say that you practice the old ways, and Mr Potter has never been shy in his attitude towards dating and sexuality. Couldn't it be possible that you provoked him to do this?”

“ _Provoked_?” Draco demanded, and clutched the armrests more tightly in an effort to keep himself calm, despite the rising anger that he felt creeping up his throat, and threatening to burst out. “I don't understand you.”

“Often, Mr Potter has proclaimed that you are a—in his words— _tease_. You would lead him on, then not continue things, using your intent to remain celibate until marriage to stave him off. In addition, as I understand it, he has proposed to you on a number of occasions, only to have you reject him each time.”

“That—I—that is—that's _ridiculous_ ,” Draco sputtered, and cut himself off to breathe before he dared speak again. “Potter initially approached _me_ when we began to see one another, not the other way round. Secondly, beyond a few kisses, I never did anything with him—I didn't want to overexcite either one of us, and doing so would only lead to frustration, nothing more. In regards to these so-called marriage proposals, he was using it as another attempt to have sex with me, _not_ from some heartfelt gesture of his feelings. The only times he ever _proposed_ was when he would become extra pushy with wanting sex, I would protest, and he would say something to the effect of, _I'll marry you right now, I don't care_.”

Another low murmur ran through the Wizengamot, but Draco's entire focus was on the defence solicitor. He glanced back at his client, then back at Draco.

“No further questions.”

Not too long after his third-degree from the solicitor, Draco was allowed to step down from the ominous-looking chair. He sat on the opposite side of the courtroom from Harry, and the two solicitors began to call witnesses. Draco strove to keep his eyes focused on the court proceedings, but he could feel Harry's eyes boring into him from across the room, and it made his skin crawl.

Witness after witness stepped up to the chair and gave their testimony. All of them offered similar stories, which did nothing but heighten Draco's unease. It was becoming more and more clear that Draco had not been involved with a man—he'd been seeing a _monster_.

Granger spoke of how Harry would constantly complain about what a _tease_ he was, and how he asked her for tips on how to get him into bed.

All the Weasleys bore similar stories, and Ginevra reluctantly told the court of how Harry would demand strange sex acts from her, though she refused to go into detail as to what these acts pertained to.

The former sex partners shared similar stories—Harry was apparently terribly cold with them after they'd had sex, and would drop them with no remorse. Draco felt his insides squirm uncomfortably at that, and when he glanced over at Harry, he saw him smirking.

The last people to testify were his own parents, but their testimonies were centred around the threatening letter they'd received following his disappearance, and how they'd thought an extremist group had kidnapped their son—that is, until they'd heard Harry call him his _pretty blond_.

Draco shivered.

“Thank you all for taking the time today to testify on this matter,” the Chief Warlock said as he addressed Draco and all the other witnesses who had spoken that day. “I am certain that both the Defence and Prosecution appreciate your frank approach to this matter, and we will not leave you to wait any longer...”

The Chief Warlock paused, and his gaze fell to Harry, who was bound in the chair before them all. All the former witnesses had been called back into the room to hear the verdict, and Harry met the Chief Warlock's eyes with a deadened stare. He only managed to hold Harry's gaze for a few seconds before he looked away and refocused his attention on the assembled court.

“All those in favour of clearing the accused of all charges?”

Draco held his breath.

Harry's dead, blank expression shifted to a dark scowl—Draco counted four hands that lifted into the air. His heart lifted.

“And all those in favour of conviction?”

Hands lifted into the air from every direction. Draco's eyes darted across the court to make sure that he wasn't seeing things, but it was true: every single member of the Wizengamot—save four—were willing to convict Harry. Draco drew in a sharp breath of relief as his gaze shifted back to the Chief Warlock, but his expression was unreadable.

“Very well,” he said, again his tone of voice blank and emotionless. “Harry James Potter, on the grounds of kidnapping, attempted rape, withholding a wand, unlawful captivity and the intent to murder, I sentence you to a life term in Azkaban Prison of forty years. You may not appeal this sentence.”

His gavel sounded terribly loud in the dead silence of the courtroom.

Draco felt as though all of the bones in his body had melted, and he fell into his mother's embrace as he let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Thank the Gods,” Narcissa whispered, “you're safe, Draco, he's going away for a _very_ long time.”

Draco glanced up long enough to see Harry being led out of the courtroom by the same two Aurors as earlier. He turned his gaze to Draco, and his glasses glimmered in the low light cast by the torches. The irises behind the frames flared red for the briefest of seconds, but an instant later it was gone, and Harry's eyes returned to their usual green.

Draco blinked hard, and watched as Harry was led the rest of the way out of the courtroom. Had he been seeing things?

Draco shook his head, and his mother regarded him oddly.

“Draco? Are you all right?”

“Fine, Mother,” he replied at once while he regarded Harry's retreating back, “I'm—I'm fine.”

Lucius and Narcissa bracketed their son as they left their seats and made for the exit. Around him, he could hear the titters of Harry's ex-lovers as they left.

“So scary, can you believe it?”

“Oh, it could have been _me_! Thank goodness I know when to put out.”

“It could have been any of us! Thank the Gods that the Malfoys got him put away, maybe we should send them a fruit basket...”

“I dunno, I feel like we're all going to miss out, now...Potter, for all his faults, was _amazing_ in bed...”

The three other men let out eerily synchronized moans of longing.

“Can we please _go?_ ” Draco hissed, and Narcissa immediately took to the task of steering Draco and her husband away from the group, and towards the exits.

 

~*~

 

“We should celebrate this,” Narcissa announced the moment they crossed into their parlour, while Draco and Lucius siphoned ash off their robes with their wands. “Draco, we could invite Miss Parkinson and Mr Zabini, and we could have your favourite, lobster souff—”

“—as much as I appreciate the offer, Mother,” Draco interrupted quickly, “all of this has been terribly exhausting. I would much rather go and sleep, and forget that this ever happened.”

_And forget that I ever heard the name, Harry Potter,_ Draco thought miserably.

“Son, you haven't eaten all day,” Narcissa protested gently, “certainly you would want something small before—”

“—let him go, Narcissa,” Lucius cut in smoothly, “it has been a trying day for all of us, none moreso than Draco. Let him rest. He knows where the kitchens are if he gets hungry.”

Draco nodded his thanks to his father, paused long enough to embrace his mother, then slipped off to the front hall and hurried up the stairs.

It was not yet late afternoon, but Draco felt as though he had been up all night. Without even bothering to shed his clothes, he climbed into bed, and was asleep almost instantly.

 

When Draco next woke, his windows were black, and there was a soft tapping of a beak sounding from one of the panes.

With a groan he got up and shuffled over to the window. He rubbed his eyes in an effort to wake himself up, but it didn't seem to be doing much good. After everything, he felt as though he'd need to sleep for a hundred years before he felt anything like his former self again.

Once he'd made it to the window, Draco found a small tawny owl perched on the sill, an oversized violet double sash crossing its little breast, and the Ministry of Magic symbol was affixed to the centre. Draco opened the window, and the owl held out its leg to him; tied there was a tightly wound scroll of parchment, sealed with wax.

Draco accepted the scroll, thanked the owl with a treat, and immediately it flew off into the night. He shifted his attention to the scroll, and leant against the frame of the open window to see what this was about. He broke the seal, and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he read the two simple sentences scrawled neatly across the centre of the parchment.

 

_An Azkaban inmate is trying to contact you._

_Do you wish to accept this letter?_

_Y/N_

 

It did not take a genius to work out _who_ would be trying to contact him, and despite his burning desire to simply discard the letter without seeing what Harry had to say, his curiosity won out. Draco moved away from the window to grab the quill from the ink pot on his writing desk, and he nervously circled the Y.

In an instant, a short letter in an elegant, flowing script that was _not_ Harry's handwriting filled the scroll.

Draco read it over once.

His skin drained of colour, turning the same shade as ash.

Draco dropped the letter to the floor, and just barely made it to the toilet before he began to dry heave.

The letter curled into ash and the evidence of its existence disappeared, but the words would forever be seared into Draco's mind like a white-hot brand.

 

_Draco,_

 

_You lose._

_I would have made it so good for you, but you chose ridiculous custom over what we could have had. You'll never have it as good as me, not again._

_You'll have plenty of time to reflect on what you've lost by your choice to betray me, and in turn, I'll have plenty of time to watch my revenge unfold—you'll never be happy, and you'll never find love, not without me._

_I do have to wonder, though...do you think they'll notice?_

_You didn't, but do you think_ they _will? Are Azkaban guards more observant than pretty blond boys?_

_In ten, twenty, and thirty years when I am still here, the years will pass, and none of it will show on my face._

_Horcruxes don't age, after all._

_Dumbledore always said that after Voldemort and Harry Potter faced each other on that fateful day, there now was only one soul occupying this body._

_Too bad he never realized which one._

 

-Fin

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you guys for reading! For my first mystery, I don't think I did too badly, but I'm pretty sure I'm no Agatha Christie, heh. Please let me know what you guys think, I had a lot of fun with this, and I hope you guys enjoyed the ride. I'm not entirely sure if enjoyed is the right term for this sort of fic, but I think you guys get what I mean.
> 
> Until next time!  
> xox  
> James


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